


Gonna Live At Last

by larrymaybe22



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Battle of Hogwarts, Depictions of Death, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Images of War, Lots of it, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slight mentions of ableism, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, grief counseling, kind of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrymaybe22/pseuds/larrymaybe22
Summary: "Harry tunes out the rest of the introductions. He doesn't understand why, but he keeps looking over at Louis. The other boy wasn't staring back anymore after Harry introduced himself, but he can't seem to help it. He's never paid this much attention to Louis Tomlinson before.Maybe it's because when it becomes Louis' turn, he says nothing other than, 'I'm fine,' when logically, Louis wouldn't have come to a grief counseling meeting if he was fine. Maybe it's because he keeps drinking out of that vial and Harry's curiosity is getting the better of him. Or maybe, it's because behind all that blue, Louis' eyes look just as haunted as Harry feels."The war is over, the dust has settled, and Harry Styles returns for his last year at Hogwarts feeling more dead than alive. After agreeing to attend a support group meeting set up by St. Mungo's Department of Mental Ailments, Harry meets another broken soul; a familiar stranger who might just have the magic to remind him, in the face of tragedy, how to live again.





	Gonna Live At Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachloulou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachloulou/gifts).



> Hello! I had a blast writing for this challenge. Thank you to the mods!
> 
> I'd also like to thank my awesome betas, Roni and Harley - you guys rock.
> 
> My prompt for fairyprincelouis (ao3)/lovelyloullaby (tumblr) was: It's after the war and both Harry and Louis, not having interacted much during their Hogwarts years, meet at the support group that the school offered. They've suffered through a lot, but finding each other has made it a little bit better. 
> 
> I really hope you like what I've written for you! :) <3 
> 
> Also, BIG DISCLAIMER PLEASE READ - Just being upfront, the character death is in fact Zayn. So if that's too much for you (which I'd totally understand) then I suggest clicking out bc it's sad af. Especially given the recent tragedy of Fizzy, please take care of yourselves and be mindful of your triggers. 
> 
> Title from the song, We Found Each Other in the Dark by City and Colour  
> Mini soundtrack:  
> A Little Broken - Storm Greenwood  
> Hugging You (Acoustic) - Tom Rosenthal  
> Arctic - Sleeping At Last

_ “And though we’ve been down the hardest road we’ve yet traveled, at least we weren’t traveling alone. Time ticks by and we’re still a little broken, but together we can lighten this load.” _

A Little Broken – Storm Greenwood 

__

_ September, 1998 _

Harry’s awake before he opens his eyes. The gentle licks swiping his nose grow more prominent now that’s he conscious – Dusty, surely. She’s been his alarm clock for years now. He feels the weight of her paws, kneading into his chest. She’s purring and she’s getting louder, more insistent. If she could talk, he knows she’d be gently nagging. He knows it’s time to get up.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes.

Dusty gives up, curling herself up on top of him to keep him warm in a way Harry’s come to guess is her way of comfort. If he doesn’t get out of bed soon, his mum will come to check up on him. She does most mornings anyway. It’s hard for Harry to get up most mornings. However, today isn’t a day to sacrifice punctuality, even if getting out of bed is hard. He’ll wait until his mum comes in, he decides.

It takes a couple minutes but, she does eventually. He can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall to his room. She doesn’t say anything until he feels the corner of his bed dip down, a hand gently wrapping around his ankle.

“Harry, honey. It’s time to leave soon.”

He takes a deep breath. It’s a big, deep breath and he takes one every morning before he tries to open his eyes. In and out. Slowly, they blink open.

His vision is blurry for a moment, lids crusted shut slightly, until they adjust to the brightness shining through his bedroom curtains. His mother is smiling softly down at him. She’s nervous for him, Harry can see it in her eyes. He wishes she wouldn’t but, he knows Anne isn’t the best at schooling her emotions. Still, it makes him regret opening his eyes today.

“Sleep well, my love?”

He didn’t. Well, maybe he did. He didn’t wake up in a sweat last night, gasping for air while echoing screams bounce around in his skull. So that’s good, he guesses but, he still feels tired, body aching in a way that says that he hasn’t slept all summer. Which is the truth because he hasn’t. The screaming nights happen often. All in all, he didn’t sleep  _ well  _ but there weren’t any screams.

He gives his mum a small shrug in response.

Anne bites her lip and nods. She knows it takes Harry a while to feel up to talking in the mornings.

“Why don’t you get dressed and have some breakfast before you leave? Are you all packed?” Anne cocks her head to his trunk sitting under the window, Dusty’s cage and a few books stacked atop. She knows the answer already, as she and Gemma were the ones to pack for him, instead letting Harry rest. She asks anyway though, because if there’s one thing Anne has done all summer, it’s been to keep trying with him. Harry wishes he had the energy to tell her he appreciates it. He does, because it nearly breaks his heart seeing his mother look so helpless around him. It’s another added guilt to strap onto his chest and one day he will make up for all the stress he has caused her. He hopes he will, anyway.

He gives his mum a small nod in response.

She flicks her wrist and the mountain of his belongings float into the air, gliding outside of the room and down the hall, presumably to wait by the front door until it’s time for him to leave for King’s Cross. She then turns back to Harry, pausing ever so briefly before she shakes it off and smiles at him again. She bends down to kiss his forehead and on her way up, plucks Dusty off of her perch on his chest and stands to leave.

“Don’t take too much time, okay? I love you.”

And then she leaves and Harry lets out another breath. He’s regretted every second that’s passed since he opened his eyes.

He does drag himself up eventually, because he really does have to. It’s the day he has been dreading all summer and he wants nothing more than to just curl into a ball of blankets and cats and mums and never come out again but he can’t. He won’t.

_ Be strong today. Or at least pretend to, for him. You’re doing this for him because he doesn’t get to. _

He dresses into a simple pair of jeans and a grey jumper. Holmes Chapel already starts to cool down a bit by September, but he’ll probably get hot in the thick knit by the time he gets to London. He’ll have to change into his school robes eventually, he figures. He keeps on what he’s wearing before he moves into his bathroom to wash his face. The cool splash of water feels nice on his skin. He looks up to look at his reflection in mirror.

He’ll admit, it isn’t the best he’s ever looked. The bags under his eyes are deep purple, clear evidence to outsiders of his sleeping patterns. He’s pale. His eyes a duller green than he grew up knowing them to be. One thing he doesn’t mind is his hair. It hasn’t been cut in quite some time – definitely not at any point this summer. His curls nearly reach the base of his neck now. He thinks he might like it this long. Maybe he’ll grow it out a little longer.

He finishes up in the bathroom and then heads downstairs. He can smell the eggs and bacon from the staircase and sure enough, there’s a plate all ready for him on the table next to his sister.

Gemma looks up from her coffee and smiles at him.

“Morning, baby brother. September first. Last first day.”

Harry never thought he would show up for his last first day of Hogwarts alone. He’s never had to go alone before. Gripping his fork, his knuckles whiten slightly as he hears faint screaming between his ears. He regrets opening his eyes today.

Gemma must realize her mistake, an apology already on her tongue, Harry can tell. Luckily, he’s saved from having to dissuade a coddling by his mother poking her head into the kitchen.

“Oh, good, you’re dressed. Eat up, sweetheart. Don’t want you and Gem to miss the train.”

Harry nods, chewing tentatively at his eggs and gulping down his tea. Anne comes over to him, gentling combing through his curls.

“Are you sure you don’t mind Gemma taking you on her way back to London? I feel terrible not seeing you off myself but – “

“It’s fine, Mum,” Harry cuts her off. He actually prefers that she has to work today rather than coming with him to King’s Cross. Most wizarding parents are probably feeling anxious about sending their kids off this year, not just her. The Dark Lord may be gone but, the weight of the last few months is still very present and this time last year, many parents had no idea it would be the last time they saw their child. Harry doesn’t want to see the worry in her eyes as he leaves.

“And I definitely don’t mind either, H,” Gemma quips from the other end of the table. She reaches over and gives the hand not holding his fork a squeeze. She and Anne share a look for a moment and Harry doesn’t miss it. They share a lot of looks lately. Gemma gets up from her chair then, putting her dishes in the sink. “I’m just going to gather the rest of my things.”

Harry turns to his mother, knowing there must be something she wants to say to him, just between the two of them.

“Trisha came by this morning. She wanted to wish you off, but I told her you were still asleep.”

Anne’s look is careful and for good reason because, Harry wants to cry hearing the name. He has to take a deep breath before he can respond.

“Oh?” It comes out weaker than he hopes. “That was nice of her. She didn’t have to do that.”

Harry feels guilty. He knows he should have visited her at least once this summer. Her house, the house that has come to be second home to him throughout his childhood, sits only just down the lane. But he just – he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to get out of bed most days let alone go see her.

As if reading his mind, Anne pushes back his curls from his forehead in that way mums just know how to do to comfort their children.

“She understands, Harry. She actually – she wanted to give you this as a gift. A good luck charm for the new year.”

Confused, Harry watches as his mum as she stalks over to the counter near the muggle telephone she uses to call their squib aunt sometimes. When she comes back, she takes Harry’s palm and places something attached to a silver chain into it. He recognizes what it is instantly.

“Oh.”

His voice cracks and Anne is on him straight away, lifting him from his chair and into her arms.

“She said he would’ve wanted you to have it,” she mumbles quietly into his hair, swaying them gently.

Harry tries his hardest to hold in the sob that so badly wants to escape his throat. He swallows it though, taking another one of his deep breaths. Anne pulls back, cradling his face with her palms.

“You don’t have to do this, baby. You don’t have to go back yet. You can wait another year, plenty of other kids are doing that.”

Harry shakes her off, not wanting her to finish her thought. He’s made up his mind about this and he can’t back out now.

“I promised him I would go. I’m gonna go, Mum.”

In a way to show her he’s serious, he takes the chain in his palm and slips it over his head. His hand settles on the ring now resting chest level. It’s gold, with a round flat circle. He’d know it anywhere. He is momentarily surprised that Trisha had it in her possession before giving it to him. Zayn was definitely wearing it when –

_ Stop. Don’t go there. _

Deep breath.

He gives Anne one of his small and noticeably fake smiles. “Be sure to tell her thank you for me?”

Anne nods, removing her hands from his face to squeeze his shoulders. Gemma comes down the stairs then, her bags following closely behind her.

“Ready to head out, Haz?”

“Yeah.”

“Got everything?”

He peeks out to the front entryway. He’s got his trunk and his books, his robes. Dusty purring gently in her cage. His wand is in his pocket.

“Yep.”

Anne clears her throat, poorly concealing the fact that she’s choking up.

“Alright then. Time to say goodbye to my babies.”

The three of them make their way out the front door, both Harry and Gemma’s things close by. Anne kisses Gemma on both cheeks with promises to visit before she pulls Harry into another hug.

“Goodbye, darling. Have a good first term. And please, baby. If you want to come home just send word. I mean it, it will be okay.”

“I know, Mum. I promise.”

She pulls back and gives him a hesitant smile before kissing him on the side of his head.

“Alright, be good. Love you both.”

She waves them off from the porch before heading back inside. Knowing his mother, she probably needs a moment to compose herself before she finishes getting ready for work. Anxious, traumatized son or not, his mother gets emotional any time she has to say goodbye to her children.

He really loves his mum.

“Okay, kid. Let’s hit the road.”

Harry turns from the door to watch his sister take out her wand from her purse. Giving it a little wave, her pile of bags disappears from the driveway, leaving only Harry’s things.

“I sent my stuff to my flat so we can go straight to King’s Cross.”

He hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. Each minute that passes Harry becomes more aware of what his decision to return to school means. He just wants to go; he doesn’t want to have time to think about it.

Gemma offers him her arm, smiling down at him. She pecks his temple as he loops his hand around her elbow. He makes sure to keep a tight grip on his stuff with his other hand too.

Harry really hates Apparating but, they’re already running a bit behind because of Harry’s slow morning routine and he has too much stuff to strap onto a broom.

Once everything is accounted for, Gemma Apparates. There’s an intense ringing in Harry’s ears and he feels the wind knock out of him. It doesn’t last long though because, a moment later the two siblings are right outside platform 9 ¾.

A clock on the wall reads 10:43. Just enough time to comfortably make their way onto the platform and say his goodbyes to his sister.

But he hesitates.

A memory flashes at him and he remembers him and Zayn in this spot a year ago. Harry had run at the wall between platforms nine and ten at full speed with Zayn on his back, laughing up a storm while their mothers shook their heads and took care of their luggage carts.

Harry feels himself tug on the ring around his neck as he stares at the brick wall now.

“Harry.”

He jumps, the sound of his sister’s voice bringing him back to the present. She’s looking at him with sad eyes and he hates it. He wishes everyone would stop looking at him like that.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods but, he knows he doesn’t sound convincing. “This is just going to be a lot harder than I realized.” That’s another lie. He expected this to be almost impossible and he’s pretty much right.

“I know this is something you’re probably tired of hearing, and I’m sorry but I have to say it.” Gemma laces her fingers through his. “I’m really proud of how brave you are. You know – doing this. Going back after everything. I don’t think I would be able to if it had been me.”

She’s right. He  _ is  _ really tired of hearing that because if there is one thing he isn’t, it’s brave. All he is doing is going back to school. He’d be brave if he hadn’t secretly wanted to stay in the dungeons while it happened. He’d be brave if he was able to face his nightmares every night. He’d be brave if he had been able to save his best friend from –

_ Stop. _

Deep breath.

No, Harry isn’t brave. If that were the case, he’d be a fucking Gryffindor.

But his sister is also wrong. If Gemma had been there that day, she probably would have been out on the front lines. She’s smart, his sister. She’s always been the cleverer one of the two of them. She had been a Ravenclaw herself at Hogwarts, graduating just a few years ago.

_ Ravenclaw – just like Zayn. _

Harry remembers being a young first year running about the castle in awe of his amazing older sister. She has always been such a talented witch, even now working for the Ministry. Harry just knows that if Gemma had been in his place instead, she would have been far less helpless than he was.

For a while, Harry actually resented the fact that Gemma was older and had already left school. Not that he’d ever tell her that, mostly because it makes him feel like a dick. He knows he should be thankful she was safe in London far away from the battle. Many of his classmates lost loved ones. He briefly remembers the shrieking of Ron Weasley, cradling one of his twin brothers. Fred? Or was it George? Harry wishes he could remember.

Anyway, he should be thankful she was safe and yet –

There are parts of Harry that hate having gone through that alone. Hate having gone through everything with Zayn alone. There are parts of him that hate being the only fucked up one in the family.

Harry wishes he wasn’t always so selfish.

He looks up at the clock again. Only nine minutes left.

“Thank you,” he finally responds.

Gemma looks like she wants to say something more, but is aware of the time. She simply squeezes his fingers and guides them through to the platform.

On this side, it’s chaos.

Parents and children rushing about to board the train. The loud buzzing of families saying their goodbyes. There is the odd whizzing of magic darting back and forth above their heads.

It’s a familiar chaos that Harry has grown to love about his time at Hogwarts. But the air of excitement of a new year that hangs above is also now laced with a somber weight. Children wear smiles on their faces, but look closely enough and you can see that not all of them reach their eyes. Parents hug their kids tighter than they might have in the past.

If this is a preface for how this upcoming year will feel, Harry knows he isn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, H. I have to run now.”

Harry crashes into his sister, perhaps a little too forcefully. Maybe a part of him wishes his mum was here after all.

“Bye, Gems. Thanks for coming.”

“Bye, kid. Of course, I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“You can write me, too, you know. If you want to talk to someone that isn’t Mum.”

“I know.”

Gemma pulls back, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. She reaches out to ruffle his curls. Harry cracks a smile and maybe it’s genuine.

She turns to leave and then she’s gone, lost in the crowds.

And now he really is alone.

***

Landscapes of lush green pass by in a blur. Harry sits cross-legged, Dusty purring soundly in his lap. His car is empty save himself. Harry actively ignores the phantom presence in the seat across from him. It’s where Zayn always used to sit, across from him instead of next to him. Needed room to stretch out his limbs all the way, he used to say. If they weren’t talking about what classes they were going to take this term or what they wanted to do the minute they get to the castle grounds, Zayn was usually reading. Or sketching. Sleeping, maybe.

The point is, no matter what he was doing, Zayn always used to be there in that seat. And now he isn’t.

Harry’s thoughts are interrupted by someone entering his car. He looks up to find the grinning blonde head of an Irishman.

“Hazza!”

“Niall, hey.” Harry smiles back at the boy.

Niall Horan was the first friend he and Zayn made during their first year at Hogwarts. They were all in a big group standing outside the Great Hall, waiting to start the Sorting Ceremony. Niall was hard to lose in a crowd. He was loud, cackling at something some boy standing next to him had said. Harry watched as he went around introducing himself to everyone. When he got to Harry and Zayn, he nearly tripped over his robe, half-shouting at Zayn that he had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. Harry had doubled over laughing. That happened often to Zayn and it never stopped being funny to Harry how he had boys and girls alike mooning over him. It didn’t take much longer for something to stick between the three of them. Niall stopped introducing himself to the others, sticking to chat excitedly with Harry and Zayn until it was time to be sorted.

Harry didn’t see Niall as often as he did Zayn. Niall was a bit of a social butterfly, dancing from group to group. But he always made extra time for the two of them.

Seeing Niall here calms Harry down a bit, even if there is a weight in his stomach telling him it isn’t the same to have him here without Zayn.

Niall plops down on the seat bench across him. He’s already in his robes, yellow and black Hufflepuff tie carelessly knotted and hanging loose. Harry glances back outside the window and realizes that they’re much closer than he thought. He should probably get dressed in his own robes soon.

When he turns back to Niall, he notices him staring back at Harry. He is as bright as he usually is, but his expression has fallen softer, more thoughtful.

“How’re you holding up, H?”

Harry shrugs – his go-to response these days. Something in him knows Niall might deserve more than how he brushes off everyone else but, Harry does it anyway.

“As good as I can be, I guess,” Harry says, “How was your summer?” Distraction tactics.

“It was alright. Pretty much spent the whole summer being barricaded in my house by me ma. Wouldn’t let me out of her sight for two minutes, that woman,” Niall chuckles momentarily before turning serious again. “I’m sorry I didn’t write much. I thought you might have wanted some space, y’know?”

Harry’s heart swells. If there is anyone who knows what Harry must really be feeling about everything, it’s Niall. He has the overwhelming feeling of wanting to hug the blonde, but Harry keeps his hands to himself.

“It’s okay. You’re probably right.”

“I’m only going to say this once and then I’ll leave you alone about it, y’hear?” Niall looks at Harry pointedly, “But, I’m here if you need me for anything, Haz. Anything.”

Harry feels himself smile a little. His heart fucking hurts but, in this moment he has never appreciated having Niall as his friend more. Niall doesn’t push like everyone else does. He just understands.

He still regrets opening his eyes today.

***

Being back in the castle is weird.

For months, the only image Harry’s had in his mind of his school is how he saw it last – in near ruins. Fallen brick and stone, half-burned into the ground. His fellow classmates’ bodies peppering the rubble.

Walking up the steps to the Great Hall with Niall, Harry feels nauseous looking at the completely restored castle, standing tall and proud as if last May never happened.

_ But it did happen. The world almost ended. Destruction and fire and death and Zayn and – _

Harry feels Niall’s fingers fold around his forearm. Harry refuses to look at him, but he is sure Niall hears his silent thank you. The touch calms him just enough not to make a scene but, does absolutely nothing for the churning in his stomach.

Not to mention, the disturbing feeling he had in his gut on the carriage ride from the train persists. His whole life, Harry had been misinterpreting what he thought a Thestral would look like. 

It isn’t until he has to separate from Niall and stalk over toward the Slytherin table that it hits Harry all at once.

_ Why did I think I could do this? I can’t do this on my own. I’ve always had you with me when I needed you. _

Harry sits down on one of the benches of the Slytherin table and curls in on himself as the first years shake and squeal in their brand new oxfords, waiting to be sorted. There’s a hum of voices echoing throughout the Great Hall. Friends catch up, rehash what they did over their holidays. Some conversations are more somber than others. There seems to be a common theme of people not saying out loud what everyone is thinking.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been a dangerous place for a long time, disguised as everyone’s fantastical home away from home. Students returned every year, regrettably with some of the wizarding world’s best and brightest choosing to living in ignorant, magical bliss. Horrible things went down between these very castle walls for years – curses, petrifications, criminals and Dark Magic, with each tragedy creating a domino effect into the next. Perhaps it wasn’t until Professor Dumbledore’s death that anyone felt scared to come back.

The Dark Lord is dead and gone now. Every force that had ever posed as a threat to Harry and his fellow classmates is a thing of the past after the great Harry Potter saved them all only a mere four months ago. Hogwarts is probably the safest it has ever been.

And yet, young Harry Styles has never felt so ill at ease to be anywhere.

The Sorting Ceremony must be finished now, as the group of eleven-year-olds at the front of the hall have all dispersed, replaced by Headmistress McGonagall standing tall at her podium. She raises a delicate hand as the chatter about the room descends into patient silence.

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome all to another year at Hogwarts. It is with great joy that I stand here this evening with all of you in our refurbished castle,” McGonagall announces loudly to the room.

Harry looks around at the Great Hall. He wants to make a comment that it looks exactly as it had before, but has no one to say it to. He tugs on the ring around his neck.

“I, as well as your other teachers, commend your bravery for returning to school after the tragic Battle of Hogwarts, where many of you fought so valiantly. Now, while we must never forget the dark days that shape us, it does not do much to dwell in our pasts forever. I encourage you all to take this as an opportunity for us all to move forward together as a family. Let us bow our heads in a moment of silence for our fallen friends.”

Harry doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t because he is afraid he won’t want to open them again. Instead he focuses on the cracked wood of the empty table in front of him, willing himself not to squirm too much in the uncomfortable silence. Silence in a room with this many people and far too many ghosts feels awfully heavy.

“Now,” McGonagall clears her throat again, “one last thing before we start our feast. The Ministry and the Department of Mental Ailments at St. Mungo’s have thought it best to provide Hogwarts students with grief counseling for those who feel they might still be affected by the war. A hanging parchment and quill reside just outside the door of the Great Hall if any of you wish to sign up. I heavily encourage this to be something you consider for yourselves.” Raising her arms once more, McGonagall’s usual stoic expression melts into a gentle smile. With a flick of her wrist, the previously empty tables are now overflowing with food and drinks. “Let us dine, to a new year.”

“What’ya say, H?”

Harry blinks up from where he stares at his untouched chicken. Niall plops down onto the seat to his right. Technically, students aren’t meant to roam from table to table during the first feast of the year, but it is clear that Niall does not care much for that rule. The other Slytherins around them simply slide over, making room for the additional blonde Hufflepuff. It’s almost funny to Harry how much everyone loves Niall. He’s pretty sure even Filch is chummy with him.

“Say about what?”

“About that grief counseling McGonagall was going on about?” Niall asks.

Harry turns his head to look at the Irishman. “Niall,” Harry starts.

“I know, I said wouldn’t pester you,” Niall interrupts, “and I meant that. I’m not gonna hound you ‘bout it. I’m just going to throw it out there, that if you’d want someone to go with you, I will.”

The look Niall gives Harry reminds him a bit of his mother and it is enough to make him squirm a bit in his seat. Niall wants him to go to the counseling, Harry can tell that much. He understands, he really does but, Harry has half a mind to ask Niall to be quiet. He left two mother hens back in Holmes Chapel, he doesn’t need one at school too.

_ Stop. Don’t be a prick. He just cares about you. _

“No, that’s okay,” Harry replies, hoping his voice doesn’t give way to the lump lodged in his throat. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea for me. I just want to move forward, you know? I don’t want to constantly be, like, talking and thinking about… _ things. _ ”

Niall, the great friend that he is, only nods and smiles warmly back at him. “That’s fair, H. Now, are you going to finish your wings?”

And they stop talking about after that, topic changing sufficiently. For the rest of dinner, Harry sits quietly as he half-listens to Niall chat about his summer between bites of chicken and mash. The other half of his attention is hyper-focused on the doors of the Great Hall, where he knows the sign-up parchment lives just on the other side.

Is Niall right? Should he go? Harry has never thought much of counseling before. Not just after recent events, but in his life in general. Sure, he knows lots of people go to counseling for many different things – hell, his mother and father went to marriage counseling before they separated. Harry never thought of therapy in relation to  _ himself  _ before, though.

Would it make him look weak? Would other witches and wizards look at him and think,  _ he is not strong enough to carry on. People die everyday. Think of all the men and women who were brave enough to die and how do you honor them? By screaming and crying for help over the things they didn’t even survive? Way to be a man, Styles. _

Harry wants to be one of those people who doesn’t care what other people think about them but, deep down, he knows he simply isn’t.

Dinner begins to wind down and some of the older kids start to make their way toward their dormitories.

“Got anything planned for tomorrow?” Niall asks as the two of them walk through the doors of the Great Hall, still chewing on a bread roll.

“Not much. Maybe I’ll do some painting by the lake and – “

“Harry, watch out!”

A group of rambunctious fourth-years are still bouncing spells back and forth when one goes rogue, whizzing from corner to corner before the force of the blast sends a full suit of armor crashing to the ground, directly behind Harry.

Unaware the to the commotion happening behind him, all it took was the loud CRASH of metal on stone to push Harry off his ledge.

He screams, clenching his eyes shut as his legs give out, falling into the heap on the floor.

_ Flames, trolls, spiders, the castle walls crumbling down all around him. Zayn lying frighteningly still amongst the rubble. _

Harry curls up on his side and covers his ears to block out the screaming that keeps ringing around him. He doesn’t realize the screams belong to him until he feels Niall’s hands shake him.

“Harry! Harry! Open your eyes, you’re alright, mate!”

Harry opens his eyes and he regrets it.

Half the school has poured out into the corridor, no doubt trying to see what the commotion is all about.

Niall wraps him up tentatively in his arms, soothingly patting his head, “You’re okay, H.”

Harry looks around at all the eyes watching him and nearly chokes with embarrassment. The fourth years stand in their corner, eyes wide with horror, not knowing what to do or say. All they did was accidentally knock over a suit of armor, and there goes some seventh-year boy, screaming bloody murder in the fetal position.

There is something wrong with him. People don’t live like this. People don’t crumble to pieces when they hear loud noises. They don’t have nightmares when they are awake.

Harry is mortified and he can’t breathe properly, but he knows he can’t keep doing this. He  _ owes  _ it to Zayn to live the best goddamn life he can, and this isn’t it.

Without another word, Harry picks himself off the floor and out of Niall’s hold. He stops just short of the counseling sign-ups. Surprisingly, there are other names already written down. That comforts him a little.

With a shaking hand, Harry grips the quill and signs his name. Unwilling to be the center of attention for a moment longer, he all but races to the staircases, feeling the eyes of his classmates on his back as he leaves.

***

Harry doesn’t know what to expect as he walks into the first grief counseling session. Stepping inside the room tentatively, Harry inspects his surroundings. There aren’t many other students here yet, maybe about a dozen and a half milling around. Maybe there are more on their way, Harry thinks to himself. Some kids chat with others quietly while some keep to themselves, much in the same way Harry tends to while standing in a crowded room – head down and body hunching in on himself, trying to seem as invisible as possible. 

It’s what Harry is doing now, actually. The session is being held in a spare classroom on the fourth floor near the library. Harry tucks himself into a far corner, eyes staring out the window at the Black Lake in the distance. How long do these things normally go on for? It’s nearing evening. It will probably be too late to paint out by the lake by the time this is over. Niall will worry if he misses dinner.

Harry pulls his attention away from the view for just a moment, when he catches something out of the corner of his eye.

Standing by himself on the opposite side of the room near the classroom door, is Louis Tomlinson.

Harry stares at the boy, lips parting gently as he finds himself watching.

Harry has always been familiar with Louis, seeing as they’re in the same year and both in Slytherin. He recalls seeing him around the castle grounds several times throughout the years. Has had classes with him, too.

He’s never really known him, though, existing in separate circles. Being the captain of the Quidditch team, Louis has always been quite popular. Popular and loud. Really,  _ really _ loud. Harry briefly remembers him going to the Yule Ball in their third year with Eleanor Calder, one of the most desired girls in the school. It was a big deal at the time, seeing as Eleanor was a year older and everything. 

Harry has never thought much about popularity. He’s never been the type to have that many friends either. He usually spent all of his time with Zayn reading in the library, or hanging out in the Astronomy Tower, or by the lake.

Noticing him now, Harry suddenly wonders if he has ever even spoken to Louis before. He can’t think of a single occasion in which he has. All these years Louis’ slept in the four poster bed beside his and they’ve never so much as had a conversation. 

There is something different about him – about Louis. First thing is that he is alone. Louis is standing up straight as a pin, hands down by his side and his fingers gripping his trousers. It’s quite unusual to see Louis not surrounded by people. He is a bit like Niall in that way, Harry figures. Louis seems like the type of person that other people naturally flock toward.

Louis also seems quiet. Quiet in a way he’s definitely never associated with Louis before. He looks just as subdued and withdrawn as most of the other kids here.

Louis digs something out from his pocket. Harry squints as he tries to get a better look at what it is, but finds he doesn’t need to strain too hard, as Louis hastily brings what looks to be a vial up to his lips, taking a big swig. His hands shake, a drop of liquid escaping from the vial and dripping down Louis’ chin.

_ Is that alcohol?  _ Harry thinks. And then, for a moment, something in him tells him to wipe the boy’s chin clean and –  _ what _ ?

Harry is about to reprimand himself for being a creep because, seriously?  _ What the fuck _ , when a man comes rushing in the classroom, startling him, his gaze finally leaving Louis.

“Hello, everybody,” the man speaks, a bright smile exposing bright white teeth. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. Misplaced me box of floo powder.”

The man then lifts his wand, giving it a little flick of his wrist. The desks that had been previously situated in neat rows begin to move, fluttering around room while several students shuffle to move out of the way. After a moment, the desks settle into one giant circle around the group waiting in the center.

“Alright, my name is Phineas Cole. I work for the Department of Mental Ailments at St. Mungo’s,” Phineas introduces himself. “Why don’t we all take a seat around the circle and we can begin?”

Harry almost forgot what he came here for and the nerves settle back in. There is a desk directly in front of his position by the window, so he sits in it, clasping his fingers around Zayn’s ring. He’s uncomfortable. He is  _ so  _ beyond uncomfortable but, he told himself he would try.

Once everyone has settled down into a seat, Phineas smiles up at all of them once more. Harry is sure Phineas means to come across as friendly and comforting, though he is not entirely sure it’s working.

“First things first, I’d like to commend you all for putting your selves out there and coming here today. It takes a lot of bravery to step out of our comfort zones, especially after living through trauma.”

_ Brave,  _ Harry internally rolls his eyes.  _ There’s that damn word again. _

“Asking for help is a great first step in healing ourselves,” Phineas continues. “And that is the whole point of this group. I am here to help all of you, just as I hope we all learn to help each other get through this tough time that many of you have been facing. Having a support system to help carry us through tragedy is sometimes what we need to keep going. You have nothing to be ashamed of for asking for help. We may have magic, but we aren’t impervious to being human.”

Harry’s breath hitches at Phineas’ words.

_ You have nothing to be ashamed of. We may have magic, but we aren’t impervious to being human. _

He makes it sound so simple. Could it all really be that simple?

Phineas sits back to lean on the desk behind him, his face falling serious. “This is a safe space. Anything that anyone chooses to share with this group is meant to stay in confidence. We’re here to bring everyone up, not tear anyone down. Everyone has their own reasons for coming in through this door today. Some reasons might seem more trivial to you than others but, you don’t get to decide how life affects the way someone feels. Understood?”

No one speaks up but, Harry can see several heads nod. He nods as well. He likes this rule. The last thing he wants is for the  _ whole  _ school to know how much of a wreck he is.

“Good,” Phineas says, toothy smile returning. “Now, since this is our first meeting, I don’t want to try anything too difficult today. Just finding it in yourselves to come was probably difficult enough for some of you. All I am going to ask of you today, is to tell me your name and how you’re feeling today and then I’ll send you off. We’ll go around the circle.”

Harry is glad he sat himself toward the far end of the circle, because he has to mentally prepare his answer. How  _ is _ he feeling today? What if his voice cracks when he tries to speak? And when it is his turn to speak, everyone’s eyes are going to be on him aren’t they? Images of the other day outside the Great Hall flash in his memory, Harry’s heartbeat picking up as he starts to feel more and more anxious, but then –

Louis Tomlinson is staring at him.

About six desks to his right, Louis sits stiffly with his vial tight between his fingers. And he’s staring right back at Harry.

Normally, one would think having a random boy stare at them would be cause for more anxiety but, suddenly Harry’s breath starts to even out.

Louis’ expression is unreadable as he seems to examine Harry’s face. His gaze isn’t unfriendly per se but, the boy definitely isn’t smiling and Harry isn’t sure what to make of this whole exchange exactly. They don’t know each other. Yet, why does Harry start to feel better suddenly being an organism under Louis Tomlinson’s microscope?

And how come he has never noticed how blue Louis’ eyes are? Blue, like the forget-me-nots that bloom down by the lake in spring and –

Harry nearly jumps out of his seat when someone pokes him in the arm.

Jade Thirlwall, a seventh-year Ravenclaw sitting to his left, looks at him expectantly before nodding her head toward Phineas in the center of the circle.

“It’s your turn, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry swallows the dry lump in his throat. He was right, everyone’s eyes are on him. He wants to crawl into his sweater, close his eyes and not open them. He can’t even remember what he is supposed to say…

He glances to his right again and Louis is still looking back at him when he does.

Harry clears his throat. “Erm, I’m Harry. And I think I’m feeling better now.”

_ What? _ That’s definitely not what he was planning to say...

“Fantastic, Harry,” Phineas quips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Harry tunes out the rest of the introductions. He doesn’t understand why, but he keeps looking over at Louis. The other boy wasn’t staring back at him anymore after Harry introduced himself but, he can’t seem to help it. He’s never paid this much attention to Louis Tomlinson before.

Maybe it’s because when it becomes Louis’ turn, he says nothing other than, “I’m fine,” when logically, Louis wouldn’t have come to a grief counseling meeting if he was  _ fine.  _ Maybe it’s because he keeps drinking out of that vial and Harry’s curiosity is getting the better of him. Or maybe, it’s because behind all the blue, Louis’ eyes look just as haunted as Harry feels.

***

Harry first picked up painting sometime in the middle of July.

Being back in Holmes Chapel those first few weeks were undoubtedly the hardest. He hardly ever left his bed, never mind leaving his room. Meals didn’t interest him in the slightest.

He was constantly in a state of attempting to sleep and never waking up, and being too scared to sleep because he was too afraid of what he might see in his dreams.

He missed Zayn so much. 

He still does, of course but, Harry would remember the times when they were younger and Zayn would crawl into Harry’s bed when he was upset. The other neighborhood kids used to tease Harry a lot because he was clumsy and talked too slow and liked to wear flowers in his hair. Zayn was always Harry’s protector, chasing after those kids then always running back to Harry, holding him and trying to make him laugh until Harry wasn’t sad anymore. Even though Zayn was always standing up for him, Zayn had a way of never making Harry feel lesser.

And in turn, Harry was Zayn’s biggest cheerleader. Zayn loved to paint. And he was  _ good.  _ Harry could spend hours watching him maneuver a paintbrush in the same brilliant way he could with a wand. Harry attended every art show Zayn ever got featured in and kept every single painting Zayn ever gave him. Harry was even the one who convinced Zayn to try art as a career one day. Not every wizard in the world needs to become a professor or work in the Ministry despite what pressures adults like put on their children. If it made Zayn happy, then that’s what he should be doing.

They were best friends, always there for each other.

Until the day they weren’t.

One particularly bad night, Harry woke panting in a heavy sweat. It was a screaming night of the worst kind – one where Harry couldn’t even fully open his mouth to properly scream.

Tears gushing in wells down his face, Harry had gripped his sheets and made the mistake of remembering the times in which Zayn would hold Harry until he wasn’t upset anymore.

_ I’m upset!  _ He wanted to scream.  _ I’m upset! Where are you? Can’t you see me, Zayn? I’m upset! _

Zayn couldn’t see him, wouldn’t. Zayn would never see him again and it’s all Harry’s fault,  _ all Harry’s fault. _

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he had cried over and over, trying as much as he could to keep from waking his mum and Gemma.

Eventually, his bed became too much. The tears dried and were replaced with a heavy, emotionless weight.

Harry had wrapped his duvet around his shoulders and stalked over to his closet door, where he settled himself down amongst his shoes on the floor.

“ _ Lumos _ ,” he had whispered, leaning his wand against an old box of birthday cards to serve as a nightlight.

Harry stayed curled in a ball of duvet, when under the shadow of light produced from his wand, he noticed a neat stack of paintings – Zayn’s paintings.

The rest of that night, Harry stayed awake, eyes never moving from the paintings. And when the sun crawled back up in the sky, Harry had something he wanted to try.

Anne nearly burst into tears when Harry asked her if she could buy him a paint set. She bought him five.

So, that’s what he does now. He paints. Or tries to, anyhow. Harry doesn’t think he’s all that good, not compared to what he knew Zayn could do but, he does it anyway.

It makes Harry feel close to him. Like, maybe he could get a better understanding of how Zayn saw the world from behind his easel. And truthfully, painting is the one thing Harry’s found that he can truly focus on without dissociating. Small victories, and all that. He’ll take it.

That’s how Harry spends most of his afternoons back at school. He’ll take his easel and paints and settle himself along one one the banks of the lake just like he and Zayn always used to. Sometimes, if he gets focused enough on what he’s doing, Harry forgets that he’s the only one there.

***

Harry has nightmares every night.

Just being back in the castle, Harry’s subconscious is in survival mode. He can’t escape the images of his demons. He thinks about all the lost souls that rest around him, almost whispering back at him as he tries and tries again to sleep.

_ How dare you sleep soundly in your warm bed. What about us? Don’t forget about us! _

Every night, Harry draws the green velvet curtains around his bed and casts the  _ Muffliato  _ charm so that he won’t wake his roommates with his screams.

Cocooned in the dark, he cries into his pillow until he falls under once more.

***

Harry is late to the next counseling session.

He spent the whole day debating on whether or not he wanted to come back at all. A part of him recognizes that it has only been one session and it is unrealistic to expect immediate results. The larger, more anxious, part of him could only focus on the embarrassment he still harbored for having to even attend counseling at all. But a whole week has passed and Harry is still awoken by his own screams.

In the end, the guilt of giving up on his promise to Zayn is what finally pushes him to go back to the next meeting. Though by the time he makes up his mind, it is nearly eight minutes before the session is set to start and, of course, Harry misses the staircases.

Harry reaches the classroom at last, slightly sweaty and out of breath from his hurried journey to the fourth floor. Multiple heads turn to face him as Harry makes his entrance and he can feel the hot spreading of a flush creep up from his neck to his ears.

_ For the love of God, please stop looking at me. _

“Ah! Harry, was it?”

Harry is pulled out of his thoughts at Phineas’ address. Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, he simply nods.

The classroom is set up differently than it had been last week. Instead one big circle of desks, there a bunch of smaller circles, clumped up in desks of three. Harry swallows, partly wishing he had just said  _ fuck it _ for the day, coming back next week instead. He isn’t sure if he’s all that prepared for group work if, if that’s what the change is for.

“Come in, come in. You’re just in time, we haven’t started yet,” Phineas smiles at him, ushering him further inside. “Go ahead and join a group.”

_ Great. _

Some students still eying him silently, Harry awkwardly scans the room in search for a seat. He wonders if this many people had been in the meeting last week, having yet to find a group with an open spot. Harry is a few seconds short of panicking, because how embarrassing would it be to be the only one without a group at all, when he finally spots an empty chair near the back of the classroom next to Liam Payne and  _ oh  _ –

Louis Tomlinson.

Who is staring at him again. Just his luck.

It’s not that Harry has any qualms sitting next to Louis – again, he doesn’t really know him – but, Harry definitely has not forgotten about their little staring contest from last week. In fact, now that Harry thinks about it, he has probably thought more about Louis Tomlinson in the last seven days than he has in nearly seven years at school. Harry really doesn’t know what to make of it yet, either.

And here Louis is again, staring at him as if he is somehow trying to stare right through Harry. Which confuses him more than he can quite express, because after last week’s meeting, Louis hadn’t looked at him once. Not to mean that Louis was avoiding Harry or anything but, rather that life went on they way it always had before. They existed in their separate circles, not even so much as a glance exchanged between them in the dormitory before lights out.

Today, all he sees is blue, blue, blue.

_ So what does this bloody mean? _

Harry ought to tell him to knock it off but, for some reason, he doesn’t think he wants to. What reason? Who the fuck knows. Harry sure doesn’t.

He walks swiftly over to the empty seat, not wanting to stall Phineas even further. He reaches the group with the two boys, smiling politely in hello before sitting down. Harry can feel Louis’ gaze from his left as Liam Payne grins brightly at him. Harry is a bit off put by Liam’s almost peppy candor. This is  _ grief  _ counseling, is it not?

“Hey, there, Harry! How goes it?”

Harry smiles apprehensively back at him, uncomfortable with the boy’s bright greeting. The only person Harry really talks to with this type of energy anymore is Niall.

“’M alright, I guess.”

Liam opens his mouth to reply, when Phineas clears his throat, requesting everyone’s attention.

“Welcome, everyone. I’m really glad to see most of you back again. In my profession, I’ve found that often it isn’t the first try that’s always the hardest but, the second one. So, thank you, for trying again if that’s how you choose to see these weekly meetings.”

Harry picks at a hangnail on his thumb, closing in on himself. Even if they aren’t specifically directed toward him, Harry doesn’t do well with praise he doesn’t deserve.

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed the different set up today. Before we start to have our big group discussions together, I felt it was best to start out small and work our way up. Trauma is a very personal experience. Now, I imagine most of you know each other in this room but, that doesn’t particularly mean you’re close enough with one another to share everything that’s on your minds just yet. That is something we’ll work towards but, baby steps. For now, we’ll focus on these smaller groups. It might be less intimidating to open up to this way.”

Harry steals quick glances of the boys in his group. He isn’t quite sure he feels the relief that Phineas must be expecting of them by this, simply because it is truly Harry’s luck to be partners with two of the  _ most  _ intimidating people he could have been paired with.

Like most people who weren’t Zayn or Niall, Harry doesn’t know Liam very well either. (Though he has actually had more interactions with the Gryffindor than the boy sitting to his left, ironically.)  

Harry’s always known Liam to be a bit of a puppy. Not in a demeaning sense but, rather that he’s always been the happiest, friendliest guy around. Popular, athletic. He gives Niall a bit of a run for his money in the everyone’s-best-friend department. Just this year Liam’s been promoted from alternate to co-captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team now that Potter has left.

Harry met Liam through Zayn, actually. Liam, while certainly one of the most daring wizards in school, wasn’t the brightest in some areas and Zayn used to tutor Liam in Transfiguration. There were a few times a week when Zayn would have to leave Harry in the Astronomy Tower to meet Liam in the library.

Harry also remembers Zayn nearly always returning to Harry in a pile of goo, sighing dramatically about how  _ positively unfair _ it was for Liam to be that fit. Harry would laugh and tease him, telling Zayn that being smitten was a good look on him – gave his face a break from all that brooding. Harry tried to push Zayn into making a move several times but, to no avail, as Zayn was always convinced that Liam only ever saw him as a friend.

Harry wonders now if Liam ever knew. Probably not, Zayn would have told him if he ever confessed his feelings but, Harry can’t really say for sure. Liam only ever hung out with him and Zayn a handful of times, all the other moments happening between Liam and Zayn alone. Harry will never know all the stories of Liam that Zayn still had left in his brain.

Which brings Harry back to his original concern. How is he meant to open up to Liam Payne about all his mistakes and grieving Zayn, while still carrying his best friend’s secret crush with him? It’s almost too close for comfort.

And Louis, well…

Harry assumes his wariness and confusion about Louis is fairly established by now.

“I understand this is still fairly fresh and new,” Phineas continues, “so I won’t ask you to go too deep with your groups today. Let’s start again with how we’re feeling today, and something you challenge yourself with for next week. Go ahead.”

Harry returns his attention from Phineas back to Liam when he hears the boy clear his throat. He’s still got a smile on his face, though smaller and less sure than before, Harry notices.

“Well, erm, hi. I mean – I already said hi, yeah,” Liam laughs nervously. “Forgive me, I’ve never really done this sort of thing before. Y’know, us Brits. Not the best at expressing ourselves and all that.”

Harry simply nods, trying to recall if Liam always talks that fast or if he’s just nervous. A memory of Zayn gushing about the plushness of Liam’s lips pops into his head and Harry catches himself watching them as Liam talks.

Scolding himself for being a creep,  _ again _ , Harry tears his gaze away from Liam’s lips only to find Louis’ intense glare following him, no doubt having picked up on Harry’s line of vision.

Heart rate increasing and face flushing, Harry tries to focus on what Liam is saying.

“I try to take things day by day I suppose. I’d say it’s going alright today, seeing as I’m chattin’ with you and Lou. Haven’t seen either of you in ages.” Liam smiles again. The way he says it implies that the three of them are more than just acquaintances of the same age being forced to talk to each other.  

Harry feels a flash of anger all of a sudden. Unwarranted, of course, because Liam’s only being nice. The thought persists, though.

_ Of course you haven’t spoken to me in ages. You were only ever kind to me because of Zayn. And now he’s dead so you never have a reason to “chat” anymore. _

Harry needs to calm down. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. Why does he have to be so irrationally emotional all the time now?

“I guess to challenge myself this week, I could start with that,” Liam continues. “Getting used to the idea of saying what I’m feeling. Kind of the whole point of all this, innit?”

Another nod. For the sake of variety, Harry adds a shrug, too. Louis remains quiet.

“And you, H?”

_ H. _

Harry wants to be done for the day. He feels like a prat but, being around Liam reminds him of Zayn and he needs a break. Harry knows vaguely that eventually he will have to start talking about Zayn in these meetings but, today isn’t going to be that day. Baby steps – Phineas even said so. Not to mention the fact that he actually really does like Liam. He just wishes his chest wouldn’t seize up so much every time the boy speaks.

“I’m just tired today,” Harry replies plainly.

He doesn’t provide a challenge for himself.

“Lou?” Liam says.

Louis’ been so deadly quiet this whole time, Harry probably would have forgotten he was there. His body doesn’t seem to give him the chance to forget, though, because Harry has never been more hyper aware of someone in his life as Harry has with Louis this week.

Louis stays silent. Instead, he reaches for the vial in his robe pocket and takes a generous gulp, his hands shaking as he recaps it. Louis keeps his gaze down at his hands on his desk, letting both Harry and Liam know that he isn’t going to participate. Harry doesn’t blame him.

For the last fifteen minutes of the meeting, the three of them say nothing more, including Liam, who seems to have exhausted himself of social interaction for the day too. Harry tries not to make it obvious and probably fails doing so, checking Louis out in his peripheral vision. He takes another sip of his vial in those fifteen minutes. Harry wants to know what’s in it. He wants to know why Louis keeps drinking it like he’s desperate for it.

“Alright, I think we’ll call it a day everyone. We’ll revisit these groups next week and touch base on our challenges.” Phineas waves them off, packing up his suitcase.

“Bye, Harry. Bye, Louis,” Liam calls quietly over his shoulder as he leaves. Harry gives him a polite wave in response, before scooting back his chair to leave himself.

Louis must have gotten up from his seat without Harry noticing because, as Harry moves to stand up, the back of his stool runs into Louis as he’s passing by behind him. The force of the stool into Louis’ shins throws him off balance and sends him to the ground. As Louis falls onto his side, he loses grip of his vial, and it rolls out a small distance away from him. The glass doesn’t shatter, but the cap must not have been on all the way and most of the mystery liquid spills out onto the stone ground of the classroom.

“Fuck!  _ Fuck! _ ” Louis curses weakly as he hungrily tries to grab the vial that’s just out of his reach.

Absolutely horrified, Harry rushes to Louis.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Louis!”

Harry hastily bends down to help Louis up, but recoils instantly when Louis winces at his touch. He looks in pain, biting his teeth hard into his bottom lip.

“Here, let me help you.”

Harry half-expects Louis to fight his help but, he doesn’t. He let’s Harry pull him gently to his feet.

Harry does notice him stare desperately down at his vial on the floor but, makes no move to retrieve it.

_ Doesn’t he want it? He can’t seem to go more than ten minutes without taking a drink from it. _

Then Harry notices the particular way Louis is clutching his lower back and he gets the nagging suspicion that he  _ can’t  _ bend down to grab it.

Harry rushes from Louis’ side to pick up the small glass and hand it over to him. He  _ is  _ the one who caused Louis to drop it, it is the least Harry can do.

_ You always ruin everything. You’re always hurting people. You’re always messing things up. _

Louis all but rips the vial out of Harry’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, whimpering loudly when he finds it empty.

“Louis, I’m so sorry,” Harry apologizes again. They’re the last two in the classroom.

Louis looks up from his empty bottle and stares at Harry once more, blue eyes wide and wet from the tears building up in them. He looks as though he is going to cry but, Harry genuinely can’t tell if he’s angry with him. Still, he finds himself holding his breath, silently begging for an accepted apology.

Louis stares at Harry for a beat longer, before remembering his empty vial. Without a word, Louis rushes out of the classroom, leaving Harry alone, reeling with more anxiety and guilt since last week when he first felt something in Louis’ gaze.

***

Harry spends his meals with Niall at the Hufflepuff table.

He finds it almost funny, that he can probably count on his hands the number of times he’s actually eaten with the other Slytherins. It’s not that he dislikes his any of them – it is his house after all – but he never had a reason to eat there. Zayn always felt more comfortable at the Ravenclaw table so that’s where Harry was, too.

Though, all things considered, the Hufflepuff table isn’t all bad either.

They’re eating breakfast on a lazy Saturday morning. Niall is working on his third helping of eggs and bacon, while Harry tentatively spreads his marmalade onto his toast.

“So, H,” Niall says with a mouthful of egg, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’re those counseling meetings? You still going?”

He says it in a way that Harry can tell he’s fishing, probably hoping that,  _ yes _ , Harry is still going. That perhaps he’s made some progress. His tone is just conversational enough that it isn’t meant to be a big deal but, Harry knows when he’s being mothered.

“I am, yeah,” Harry answers, because this is Niall and the least Harry can do is be courteous to how much he knows his friend cares about this. Niall certainly hasn’t forgotten about Harry’s episode outside the Great Hall on their first day. “There have only been two sessions so far.”

“Glad to hear it, Haz. I think it’ll be good.”

“Yeah.” Harry takes a bite of his toast so he won’t have to say much else.

“Been feeling any better lately?”

He swallows reluctantly. “Um, I’m not sure, if I’m being honest. It’s a bit weird.”

In an attempt to busy himself from noticing any looks of pity that may or may not be forming on Niall’s face, Harry takes a large gulp his juice, eyes sweeping the Great Hall. It’s fairly empty, as it is still a bit early. Most students won’t trickle in until lunch on the weekends, much more keen on sleeping in. Harry can’t remember the last time he slept in.

He pauses once his eyes reach the Slytherin table. If there is something Harry expects to find there, he pretends he isn’t disappointed when he doesn’t.

“I definitely feel…something, though.”

Niall must hear the edge in Harry’s tone, because he drops the subject.

They finish eating and begin to head out. Niall’s jabbering on about going back to sleep and no one daring to wake him until it’s time for his next meal (the Irishman’s essentially just a vacuum for food and beer) while Harry trails along behind him. Maybe he’ll try to paint something different today. There are only so many species of flowers on the castle grounds for him to paint. What might not be too advanced for him to try next? A tree, perhaps?

On their way out of the Great Hall, something else catches Harry’s eye.

Sat in the farthest corner of the Gryffindor table are Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. They’re chatting quietly to themselves, eating their breakfasts.

What makes Harry pause is how…okay they look.

Not like,  _ okay,  _ okay – there is a sense of grief in them that is pretty hard not to see in most of his classmates – but, still.

How the  _ fuck  _ are they doing it? Carrying on?

Harry feels like dying every time he thinks about what he’s lost, but he hasn’t gone through a fraction of what they have.

He never interacted much with the likes of Harry Potter and his friends. They were always older and right bloody intimidating, save for Ginny maybe. Not to mention all the disasters that seemed to follow them wherever they went. Harry had Charms one year with Ginny. Second year, he thinks. She was a witty, clever girl. Kind, too, even though she and Harry probably never said anything more to one another other than a polite, “hello.”

Harry never believed any of the rubbish Draco and his friends would say about them in the Slytherin common room either. In fact, Harry pretty much avoided Malfoy’s crowd altogether, spending as much time with Zayn in Ravenclaw Tower as he could. They were nasty and rude and always said the most horrible things. Harry never did care much for the stigma that came with being in Slytherin because of fucked up ideologies and the dark wizards who – 

Harry’s thoughts are off on a tangent now.

His attention refocuses to Ginny and Hermione in their corner.

Just watching them from afar, Harry admires their strength after everything they’ve faced and all the things they’ve seen. Hermione even came back to school when she didn’t have to, back to these castle walls that were rebuilt around screams of suffering.

He also envies them. It’s a nasty emotion but he does. Harry would give anything to have an ounce of the strength they must have to be able to live with themselves every day.

“Haz, you comin’?” Niall calls and Harry forces himself to turn away from the girls.

Maybe Niall has the right idea. Maybe he should sleep until his next meal.

He doesn’t sleep. He paints a tree.

***

The Slytherins share Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws. Zayn used to doodle on Harry’s parchment of notes next to him at their shared desk but, there’s been an empty seat on Harry’s left since the beginning of term and the margins of his notes are bare. Harry does his best to ignore both of these facts.

He’s in the middle of scribbling down his first series of notes when the classroom door squeaks open. He pauses, him and most of his classmates turning in their seats to investigate the interruption.

It’s Louis. He’s sweating a bit, an embarrassed look on his face as he attempts to slip in without causing too much of a disturbance. It’s probably the quietest Louis Tomlinson has ever made an entrance.

Harry swiftly turns back around in his seat and focuses on his notes. He’s done his best to avoid Louis like the plague – bumping into him, making eye contact, seeing him in general – after he knocked him over and spilt his vial last week like the stupid klutz he is. Harry already has enough bad images in his mind to give him nightmares. The wild, distressed look in Louis’ eyes at the hand of Harry’s carelessness was not a welcome addition.

“Ah, Mr. Tomlinson. Good Morning,” Professor Watts greets sarcastically.

“I apologize for my tardiness, sir. I – I overslept.” Louis replies. Harry hears a tenseness in him, his voice sounded coarse.

“I see. Don’t let it happen again, Tomlinson. Five points from Slytherin. Take a seat, we’re on page two-hundred and eighty.”

Harry hears the shuffling of soft soles moving further into the classroom, though instead of fading further away toward Louis’ usual side of the room, the footsteps become louder and louder. Unusual, yes, but Harry doesn’t think much of it until he hears someone clear their throat just behind his shoulder.

Harry jumps nearly an inch off his seat. Sure enough, Harry lifts his head from his notes to find Louis Tomlinson standing next to him with a questioning look, motioning toward Zayn’s empty seat with his head.

“Mind if I sit here?” Louis whispers.

_ What? Why?   _

On the other side of the room, Louis’ normal seat has been taken by someone else. What confuses Harry, is that Zayn’s seat isn’t the only one open. There are other seats he can choose. Louis has friends in this course, why is he asking to sit with  _ Harry? _

His first thought is to protest.

_ No, you can’t sit there, that’s Zayn’s spot. Go sit somewhere else and please, for the love of Merlin stop staring at me _ .

He knows that sounds ridiculous, though. He can’t save a fucking seat for his dead friend. It’s not like Zayn’s going to come in late too, expecting his chair to be waiting for him. And Louis is staring at him again like before, eyes big and round as always.

_ Blue, blue… _

Unable to make any words, Harry just nods. Louis mumbles a “thanks,” before sitting down and opening up his books.

They don’t talk. They both keep to themselves and write their notes, but Harry is hyper-aware of Louis’ presence next to him for the rest of the class. He has to fight himself from sneaking a glance each time he sees Louis’ hand shaking around the grip of his quill in his peripheral.

Harry doesn’t notice his muscles beginning to relax to the rhythm of soft breaths coming from the boy sitting beside him.

***

The next few weeks pass in a blur of routine.

Harry wakes up. He takes his deep breath before opening his eyes, then drags himself out of the warm security of his bed and gets ready for breakfast with Niall. During the week, he goes to class. He paints at the lake or reads in the Astronomy Tower until dinner with Niall, then he returns to the dungeons for bed, unless it’s a Friday, where he spends the late afternoon in counseling.

He is still in a group with Louis and Liam. They hardly ever say anything – including Liam, who has since ceased his need to fill empty silences since the first time they were grouped together – but they still go. They definitely don’t talk about how they are feeling.

Louis also continues to sit in Zayn’s seat.

Harry won’t lie and say he isn’t a little curious about Louis’ decision to keep sitting with him during Defense Against the Dark Arts, especially on the days where he shows up on time and his usual seat hasn’t been taken. They aren’t friends – they never have been. Harry would probably even guess that Louis has less than favorable feelings about him, if all the staring and vial spilling is anything to go by.

Still, Harry chooses not to question it. He doesn’t dare  _ ask  _ Louis why he still sits with him. Just like Harry doesn’t dare admit to himself that, for some reason, he is relieved seeing Louis in Zayn’s seat when he walks into class.

Harry welcomes the routine. It makes the days blend together in a way that makes time pass faster. All he seems to want is for time to go by faster. He doesn’t know what he is waiting for; he certainly doesn’t have anything waiting for  _ him  _ on the other side. He doesn’t exactly know why he holds on to the routine _ ,  _ he just does. Maybe he is waiting for a time where he’ll one day wake up and not regret opening his eyes.

***

“Bloody hell, Styles! Shut the fuck up!  _ Wake up _ , wanker!”

Harry is awoken on a screaming night to one of his roommates violently shaking him by the shoulders.

Harry blinks up at him, eyes wide and he trembles, gripping tightly at his green sheets as he tries to even out his breathing.

“You’ve been fucking shrieking for hours, mate. Give it a rest, we’re trying to sleep,” The boy – Stan Lucas, now that Harry has his bearings – nags at him, stalking back to his bed now that Harry’s awake.

_ Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. _

Harry came to bed later than usual that night, having spent hours trying to finish his painting of the Whomping Willow - which, in hindsight, was a stupid idea seeing as the bloody thing wouldn’t stop fucking  _ moving.  _ After packing up his easel and supplies, Harry trudged straight to bed, exhausted. He must have forgotten to place his silencing charm.

To his complete horror, as if he wasn’t embarrassed enough, Harry hears the distinct sound of snickers coming from the other end of the dark dormitory. A lump immediately forms in the back of his throat.

_ Stupid. You stupid, fucked up crybaby. You’re such a nuisance. You can’t do anything right. _

Harry can’t breathe, feeling suffocated in his sheets. He climbs out of bed, grabbing his pillow and duvet, fleeing from the room.

_ “Lumos,” _ He casts, as he closes the door behind him. He rushes down the steps of the dungeon and into the common room. He can’t get away fast enough.

The bright flames of the fire cast a green glow. Harry settles himself down onto one of the black sofas closest to the warmth, ordering,  _ “Nox,”  _ with his wand. He wraps himself in a cocoon of duvet and sobs.

He cries and cries, his shoulders shaking violently. He feels ugly – stupid,  _ disgusting –  _ his face wet with snot and tears.

He hates this. He hates everything about it. It’s always the same thing.  _ Must it always? _ Why can’t he feel normal yet? It’s been  _ months.  _ All he is, is a broken record who can’t break free from the vice-grip of the past. He hates being a burden. To his mother and sister. To his classmates. To people like Louis Tomlinson.

Curled up by the warmth of the fire, Harry exhausts himself, until sobs become whimpers, falling slowly back to sleep. 

Harry wakes up screaming again, maybe hours later, maybe minutes, he can’t be sure. This time, however, when Harry opens his eyes, it’s the blue of Louis Tomlinson’s staring back at him.

Louis’ got a gentle hand cupping the side of his shoulder, staring down at Harry on the couch with a pinched brow, the look of concern unmistakable in his features.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Louis’ soft, raspy voice croons, “It’s only a nightmare.”

Harry’s throat closes and he doesn’t know what to say. The clock above to fireplace mantel reads a quarter past three in the morning. His screams must have been loud enough that he woke everyone up again, and now Louis’ down here to shut him up.

“I – I’m sorry,” Harry stammers, desperate to blink back the tears welling up, “I’m sorry.”

Louis shakes his head. “Shh, shh…” His voice is soothing, quiet. There isn’t an ounce of anger to be detected.

As if Harry isn’t already perplexed by what is happening, Louis removes his hand from Harry’s shoulder, slowly bringing it up toward his face. Louis’ thumb, ever so gently, swipes away at a loose, sweaty curl that had fallen against his forehead.

_ Am I dreaming? Have I finally gone mad? _

Harry watches Louis’ eyes as they search Harry’s face. He wonders, were this anyone else, if he would feel too exposed. This all feels far too intimate for two classmates, acquaintances at best. Surely gentle wake-ups from anxiety-induced night terrors are reserved for people who have spoken more than a handful of words to each other?

And yet, Harry feels his breath evening out.

It’s all gone too soon, as just as Harry starts to lean in to the touch, Louis slowly backs away, moving toward the fire. The wince Louis makes as he crouches to the floor isn’t lost on Harry.

For a moment, it’s silent. Harry sits up a bit on the couch, his duvet falling slightly around his shoulders as he watches Louis slowly stretch out his limbs.

The silence lingers on, convincing Harry that Louis isn’t going to say anything more. So when Louis does finally speak up, he startles Harry.

“That happens to you a lot, doesn’t it?”

Louis is looking back up from his hands to Harry again.

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“The nightmares? And the screaming?”

Louis doesn’t sound angry about it. In fact, he sounds more sympathetic than anything. Still, Harry gets the urge to apologize again. And he would, if he isn’t so completely thrown by Louis talking to him at all.

“Some nights I hear you casting  _ Muffliato  _ before bed,” Louis continues when Harry doesn’t answer, “I do sleep in the bed next to yours. They aren’t that far apart.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology practically slipping out of Harry.

Louis does probably the  _ last  _ thing Harry expects – he laughs. It’s only a small one, just barely sounding out past his lips, but his eyes crinkle slightly. For a brief moment, there’s more life behind Louis’ eyes than he’s seen in weeks.

Harry’s stomach flips a little.

“Don’t be silly, mate. I never hear anything. That’s the point behind the spell, no?”

Harry blushes, unable to help it. He coughs into his fist, hoping, yet most likely failing, to cover it up. He finally sits up all the way, tightly wrapping himself up in his duvet, shy.

“Are you cold?” Louis asks him, “You should come down here. It’s much warmer.”

Harry freezes momentarily, swallowing loudly. He isn’t really all that cold, but will he make things awkward if he says no? He also isn’t used to being this close to the boy. What if he acts all weird and creeps Louis out?

_ Calm down, you freak. He just thinks you’re cold, it’s not that deep. _

And, really. Sitting by the fire does sound kind of relaxing.

“Okay.”

Harry untangles himself from his sheets and slowly walks toward Louis and the fire, as if, for some reason, not to scare Louis off like some animal.

He sits down in front of the flame, giving just enough space between the two boys to feel safe. He tucks his legs into his chest, holding them in close and tight with his arms.

“Um,” Harry clears his throat. It’s always so hoarse after screaming night. “I’m sorry if you couldn’t go back to sleep because of all of my, um…”

Harry trails off, motioning a hand vaguely around himself.

“Oh, no. I’m down here most nights around this time anyway,” Louis says.

“Really? How come?”

Harry can see Louis hesitate. He looks down from Harry, wringing his hands around his wrists.

“The dungeons always get so cold at night. The fire’s warm. Feels good on my joints.”

There’s a look on Louis’ face then, one that Harry’s become fairly good at recognizing over the past few weeks. It’s the face Louis makes when he wants to drink from his vial – the one Harry so gracefully spilled when he knocked Louis to the ground a few weeks ago.

Louis doesn’t have the bottle with him now, which is curious. He can tell how much Louis wants to drink whatever’s in it.

Because Harry’s people skills died in the Battle just like everything else about him, Harry blurts, “What’s that you’re always drinking in that vial of yours?”

Harry’s eyes widen with regret, especially as he can see the way Louis’ face falls slightly, undoubtedly taken aback by such a direct question.

“I’m sorry,” Harry quickly amends. “That’s none of my business.”

“No, no, H. It’s okay,” Louis rushes to ease Harry’s obviously growing panic.

_ H. _

“It’s a Calming Draught.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it.

“A Calming Draught?” Harry dumbly repeats.

“Yeah…”

Louis avoids Harry’s eyes, staring down at his twitching hands. He looks as embarrassed as Harry feels, really wishing he hadn’t put Louis on the spot like that.

He knows what a Calming Draught is, of course. It’s a potion meant to calm those who’ve endured a great deal of emotional or traumatic turmoil. It’s part of the curriculum for fourth year potions students.

Harry’s mum even had him take a small dosage at the beginning of the summer when Harry was at his worst. He didn’t like it, though. It made him feel numb in a way that almost scared him more than all his emotions did. At the time, he felt it a necessary punishment; to force himself to soak in all the pain caused by his own mistakes. He told his mum that he didn’t want to take it again after that first time. He wonders now if he’d feel differently about it. Numbness doesn’t sound half bad.

Looking at Louis, though, with his tremors and the dullness behind his eyes, Harry can only imagine what Louis sees in his own head. Just the sheer number of times he remembers seeing Louis take a desperate swig causes Harry’s heart to throb.

So Harry doesn’t push. He, of all people, understands the need to run away from every overwhelming thought from the last few months. He sits still, planning on letting the conversation go. He’s wondering whether he should leave Louis alone and try returning to bed, when Louis speaks again.

“I got nearly crushed to death and my body doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

The thoughts in Harry’s head immediately silence themselves. He whips his gaze back to Louis from where it had fallen to the floor in the silence, and of course, Louis’ eyes are waiting for him, just as they tend to be.

“What?”

Louis takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his fringe, voice a notch louder as he gains more confidence in his confession to Harry.

“The night of the Battle, after we all got out of the dungeons. I was fighting off some of the Death Eaters up near the Room of Requirement with the Weasley twins and some others. It just like, came out of fucking  _ nowhere,  _ Harry, this huge explosion. I can’t even remember which direction it came from, or who might’ve cast it but, I got – “

Louis pauses for another deep breath, this one less steady than the first. Harry clutches onto his knees, his fingers nearly white as he listens in horror.

“I got crushed,” Louis continues, “trapped, really, underneath this section of wall that fell on top of us.”

Harry closes his eyes, his own laundry list of haunted visions twirling together with images of Louis scared and broken. Did he call for help? Did he play dead? Harry didn’t dare ask.

“I only broke my back and a few ribs. Some of the others weren’t so lucky.”

_ Lucky.  _ What a funny word. Harry doesn’t want to speak for Louis, but Harry wouldn’t say he feels particularly  _ lucky  _ to be living the way they are. Does it make him a bad person, if sometimes he feels like Zayn was the lucky one after all?

“I’m in pain a lot,” Louis explains. “I spent pretty much the whole summer in St. Mungo’s waiting for my back to heal and – and I just don’t feel the same, you know? I have a lot of anxiety. I can’t handle crowded spaces or loud noises. I had to quit Quidditch because of all of it. They told me the pain wouldn’t last forever, but I’m not as convinced. The Calming Draught, it relaxes me. It like, relaxes my muscles, too.”

Louis lets out a small laugh - a self-deprecating one. “It’s why I go to counseling. I’m not handling it all that well.”

If Harry didn’t think it would make things worse, he could probably cry.

_ Who the hell is Louis Tomlinson? Who is he, and why does he keep staring at me? Who is he, and why I have I started to feel a little bit more like myself each time I’ve been in the same room as him? Who is he, and why does the idea of him giving up Quidditch because his body can’t handle being on a broom anymore break his heart? _

“Harry?”

Harry finally opens his eyes up again. He hadn’t even realized he closed them. Louis is sitting closer than he remembers.

“You ever wish sometimes you had the magic to make the whole world quiet?” Louis asks him, his blue eyes large and searching.

Harry nods.  _ Yes. Yes, I do. All the time. You get it. _

He doesn’t say that, though. 

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

Louis shrugs. “Because I wanted to.”

_ Simple as that.  _

Harry really wants to reach out the small distance between them and hold his hand. He doesn’t do that, though.

“I lost my best friend and it’s all my fault.”

So, that’s totally not what he meant to say. He’s not sure what he  _ was _ going to say. He’s not sure if he was going to say anything at all, but now that he has, it’s almost like the invisible weight on Harry’s shoulders lifts just a little. It’s still mostly there, but it hovers just enough off his back for Harry to instantly be addicted to that feeling.

He’s never said it out loud before. With his family, with Niall – he never had to. They already knew. But with Louis…

Harry said it. Because he  _ wanted  _ to.

Louis doesn’t say anything back. He doesn’t ask Harry to elaborate, doesn’t ask who he’s talking about. Instead, he offers a thoughtful look of understanding. For Harry, it’s more than enough.

They don’t share any more about their problems, but they do chat for a little bit longer. Then a little bit longer turns into another hour. At some point they migrate back over to the couch and share Harry’s duvet, the ground having grown hard and uncomfortable for Louis.

They share stories about one another; about their families, about the past six years of school before everything went dark. Who knew you could miss so much about someone? Especially the person whose bed stood less than two metres away from yours all these years.

The third time Harry wakes up, he isn’t screaming. The common room is lit, though it must still be early, not a single Slytherin having yet roused from their beds for Sunday morning brunch.

The next thing he registers, is that his head is not, in fact, sleeping on his pillow. Rather, it rests quite comfortably on top of Louis Tomlinson’s chest.

Harry freezes in panic. Their early morning conversation floods back into his mind. They must have fallen asleep at some point, tangling together under the warmth of the duvet.

He quickly glances up to see Louis still deep in slumber. Harry notes how soft he looks, peaceful.

_ Oh, Merlin, Harry. You’re crushing him! _

Harry doesn’t know what to do. Does he risk waking Louis by getting up? One thing’s for sure, he’d probably die if Louis were to see them cuddling.

They’re friends –  _ maybe _ . Harry would like to be friends. He hasn’t felt this comfortable with someone in a long time. Still, having a late night heart-to-heart with a maybe-friend doesn’t qualify as an open invitation to cuddle that person, though. Right?

Slowly and carefully, Harry extracts himself from Louis’ hold and off the sofa. He praises a silent  _ thank you  _ when Louis doesn’t stir awake.

Refusing to stand and watch Louis sleep like a weirdo, no matter how pretty he looks in the early morning light, Harry rushes back up the stairs to hop into the shower. He’ll retrieve his pillow and duvet later.

Standing under the hot spray, wet curls sticking to the back of his neck, he furiously tries to wash away his prevailing blush.

Despite waking up unsure and embarrassed, Harry realizes that that was the best sleep he’s gotten since he saw the life leave Zayn’s eyes.

***

Harry doesn’t see Louis again until counseling the following Friday.

He has been nervous all week. How exactly does one act after exchanging personal information with someone you barely know – no matter how consistently drawn you might feel toward this person as of late – and then proceeded to sleep on them?

Were they friends now? Is that how broken people make friends? Does Harry even  _ want  _ a new friend?

Ever since Harry woke up to find himself using Louis’ body as a human mattress, Harry hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the boy. He was just so… _ gentle  _ with Harry. And understanding and warm –  _ so _ warm. Harry knew he didn’t have to reciprocate and talk about Zayn after what Louis told him (another set of images that are now ingrained in Harry’s head) but Louis made it all feel safe. Is that the right word? It’s not even like Harry actually said anything about what happened with Zayn, he didn’t even say his name, but sitting with Louis by the warm fire in the quiet early morning made Harry feel, for the first time, that maybe his world wouldn’t explode if he talked about Zayn.

And fuck, Harry really has no idea what to do with that feeling.

Harry walks into the classroom and sits in his usual desk, only this time it’s just Louis sitting there. Normally, Liam is the first to show up.

Harry didn’t really anticipate getting a reaction from Louis when he sits down, but upon hearing the scrape of his desk chair against the stone floor, Louis looks up from his hands and sports a wide grin. It’s a genuine one, Harry can tell by the sudden twinkle behind his blue eyes. It almost takes Harry’s breath away. Broken people don’t smile like that, do they?

_ Maybe not Louis Tomlinson. _

“Hey, Harry.”

“Hi,” Harry greets back, willing the blush he can feel in his cheeks to go away.

_ All he did was smile, you loser. _

“Where’s Liam today? It’s not like him to be late.” Harry inquires.

Something in Harry’s words strikes Louis apparently, as his smile falls a fraction. He takes a swig of his vial.

_ His Calming Draught,  _ Harry remembers.

Louis goes for nonchalance, but there’s now a sadness in him that wasn’t there a minute ago. “Oh, he had something for Quidditch. Season’s picking up.”

“That’s right. Why aren’t you –“ Harry’s eyes widen, horrified as he recalls their late night conversation.

Harry may have stopped his sentence, but Louis could already tell what he had been about to say.

_ Way to go, arsehole. _

“I’m sorry, I –“

“It’s okay, Harry.”

“No, really,” Harry flusters, “It’s not just that. Well, I mean – yes, I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I’m sure you’re already dealing with enough having to miss out on Quidditch your last year without me reminding you about it.” Harry clenches his eyes. “And…I just did it again. Lovely, Harry. Sorry.”

Louis giggles. It’s small, but Harry definitely hears it and he opens his eyes to see Louis smirking slightly at him in return.

“It’s alright, Harry, really. Pretty much everyone forgets.”

_ They shouldn’t. No one should make you feel bad about it. Can’t they see you’re hurting? _

“Right, okay.,” Harry swallows, “What I was going to say, was that I’m also sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I feel awful about the weight…you should’ve woken me up.”

Once Harry mentions the other night, the wave of sadness Louis felt about Quidditch passes, and to Harry’s complete surprise, Louis lets out a small laugh – a self-deprecating one, almost embarrassed, maybe?

_ What on Earth does Louis Tomlinson have to be embarrassed for? _

“That’s okay, actually. Normally that kind of thing would’ve hurt like a bitch, probably, but…” Louis nervously scratches the back of his neck before returning his gaze to Harry. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird or anything, but that night I had the best sleep that I’ve had in awhile.”

_ Oh. _

Well, definitely no use in trying to hide any blush now.

Louis must take Harry’s sudden stiffness for uncomfortableness, as he quickly lowers his eyes back to his shaking hands on the desktop, clearing his throat.

That just won’t do. Someone as wonderful as Louis Tomlinson is turning out to be should never feel embarrassed. Especially not with something like this, where his confession mirrors Harry’s memory of the same night.

“I did, too.”

Louis lifts his head back up and raises a confused eyebrow. “You what?”

“You said you had the best sleep you’ve had in a while that night. I did, too.”

Phineas chooses that minute to walk in, Harry almost completely forgetting where they where. He has just enough time to notice the shy smile on Louis’ face before the meeting begins and the bad thoughts make their heinous return.

***

A shift changes between Harry and Louis after that.

They never bring up what happened to either of them on the night of the Battle, but they do begin to talk more.

In group counseling, even when Liam comes back the next week, they partake in light conversation. Sometimes, they even progress to being a little more honest about what they feel. One week, the boys manage to participate in one of Phineas’ exercises.

He calls it the Burger Method, which is something Harry has definitely never heard of, and he briefly wonders if Phineas is Muggle-born.

The Burger Method works as follows: each member in their group will give the other members a compliment regarding their recovery, followed by a concern they might have. Then they’ll provide each member with an encouragement. Don’t ask Harry how all that relates to hamburgers – the only connection seeming to come from a diagram drawn by Phineas’ wand, in which the two sandwiching buns have the words ‘Compliment’ and ‘Encouragement’ written inside of them, while the patty in the middle spells out ‘Concern.’

“It’s making me a bit hungry, actually,” Harry hears Louis murmur next to him. The corners of Harry’s lips quirk ever-so-slightly northward.

Liam goes first, because the lad usually at least like to  _ try  _ with these sort of things.

Sometimes Harry wonders why Liam keeps coming to these meetings, since he never really appears all that sad. Then Harry will usually scold himself internally, assuming that some people are able to hide their grief easier than he can.

Liam doesn’t say much though, citing that he doesn’t know Louis or Harry well enough to give them any concerns, but he compliments them both for continually seeking support.

There’s a beat of silence before Harry and Louis exchange glances, no doubt neither of them wanting to be next. Most likely they’ll shrug and choose not to say anything at all, just like any other challenge Phineas has given them over the past few weeks.

It seems, however, that Louis never ceases to surprise Harry.

“Liam, I’d like to compliment your positivity. I really don’t know how you do it all the time, mate. It looks exhausting. A concern…erm. I guess, I hope that you aren’t putting up a brave front for people. I’m not sure you are, like you said, we don’t really know each other all that well, but I know how you Gryffindors are.” Louis gives Liam a cheeky wink, which pulls out a laugh from him. “And for an encouragement? I guess I’ll just say to keep it up. Merlin knows this place could use the good vibes right now.”

“Thanks, Lou.” Liam smiles brightly.

Then, before Harry has time to even fully comprehend how stunned he is that Louis actually took on a challenge, Louis’ turning his entire torso toward Harry.

“Curly,” Louis addresses him.  _ Curly?  _ “I’ve been meaning to give you this compliment for a while now, but it never really came up again, but I thought it was really awesome what you told me that night, by the fire in the common room. You didn’t say much, but I could tell how hard it was for you to say anything at all and I think you should be proud of yourself for that.”

Okay.  _ What? _

“Concern?” Louis continues, “I think you’re in your head all the time. And based on what I’ve seen, it seems like a pretty scary place in there.”

_ What does that mean? What has he seen? _

“I encourage you to get out of there once in a while. When you can help it. It’s okay, I understand.” Louis gives him a small smirk before gently nudging him with his elbow. “You’re getting there, though. I can tell.”

Harry is slightly slack-jawed, positively unable to form a coherent response. Because, here is Louis. Here is this  _ boy,  _ who up until a few weeks ago, was nonexistent in Harry’s life. And now, it’s as if he can see right through him, knows him in a way. And after what? A few weeks of intense staring, a late night conversation about trauma and an accidental cuddle?

Also, let the record show, that Louis Tomlinson is  _ kind.  _ That’s what Harry’s thinking about, because he doesn’t have to say all the things he somehow knows will make Harry feel just a little bit better. He doesn’t have to, and yet, he keeps doing it.

Harry passes on his turn, and really, he feels kind of shitty about it.

Louis went out of his comfort zone to say such nice things to him and Liam, even while Harry watched him wince as he tries to adjust his position in his chair, and Harry couldn’t do the same?

After what Louis said, though, he just didn’t have the words.

And of course, Louis understands. He doesn’t press, he doesn’t get upset that Harry wouldn’t participate with him.

Instead, he changes the subject and starts to make small talk with Liam about some of the members on the Gryffindor team.

Louis brings up something that he’s sensitive about, just to take the pressure off of Harry and he starts to wonder just exactly where this boy came from. Certainly out of nowhere.

The talking isn’t limited to group counseling, either.

Every week, Louis will slip into his newly-adopted Zayn Seat in DADA and talk to Harry. Harry thinks he might have accidentally flipped a switch in Louis the night they fell asleep on the couch together. Before, all he could expect from Louis was a blank stare. Now, Louis is, to put it plainly, a chatterbox.

Louis fills the silences knowing Harry won’t, commenting on how cold it’s getting, or whispering to him about nonsense during lesson.

Louis starts to act a little bit more like the Louis Tomlinson he always heard about, even if he does still tremor and drink his draught like it’s water.

Harry really can’t say he minds all that much.

Weeks have passed. He still gets nightmares and he still follows his routine, but for the first time, Harry might have something to open his eyes for.

It’s fucking terrifying, is what it is.

***

One afternoon, Louis catches Harry on his way to the Astronomy Tower to paint. It’s been getting far too cold for the late hours by the lake, as it’s half November now.

“Hey, Harry. Whatcha got there?” Louis smiles kindly at him, nodding to his easel floating next to him and his painting kit in his hands.

“Oh,” Harry starts, a bit surprised. He and Louis have been speaking a fair amount lately, but Harry’s never talked to him anywhere other than in group or in class.

Part of Harry assumes that Louis’ been interacting with him out of convenience whenever they are in the same place together. He also won’t lie that there hasn’t been a tiny voice in the back of his head proclaiming he’s mistaken Louis’ sudden kindness for pity. So, for reasons such as these – no matter how silly they really are – Harry is taken aback a bit when Louis stops in the hallway for a chat.

He shrugs insecurely, replying, “Just some art stuff.”

Louis smile widens, however. “Wicked, mate. Got a project or something?”

“No. I just like to paint up there sometimes.” Harry nods his head toward the staircases to the Astronomy Tower beside them.

Harry knows painting, or art in general, isn’t something to be embarrassed about. Zayn was the best at it, and everyone always thought he was the coolest. Perhaps it is because he isn’t really all that good at painting, or maybe it’s because painting is his Zayn Thing, but Harry feels quite protective of it.

He’s become quite insecure about a lot of things over the last few months, but channeling all this focus into a painting is probably the closest thing to paradise Harry’s able to imagine right now.

_ Except perhaps a certain pair of eyes I can’t stop thinking about,  _ Harry thinks fleetingly.

He doesn’t know what he would do if Louis were to make fun of him for something as  _ fruity,  _ or  _ feminine  _ as being a painter.

Once again, Louis proves himself to be better than that.

“I think that’s really cool, Haz.”

Harry’s cheeks warm at the nickname.

It’s getting quite late in the day and Harry still has coursework to finish later, but he doesn’t want to let Louis go yet.

Harry speaks before he thinks.

“Would you want to join me? Um, you know, if you’re not busy?”

It starts off confident, though as Harry realizes the implication behind his question, he slowly loses it. Did he actually want Louis to keep him company while he paints? It’s his Zayn Thing. Is he okay mixing the two? And even worse to think about, what does he say if Louis says no? The rejection alone would surely be enough to ruin the rest of his night, maybe even his week.

Harry’s fear is suddenly more justifiable, as Louis’ smile falls completely. He glances anxiously back and forth between the staircase and Harry.

“It’s okay. Nevermind, I –“ Harry quickly amends. He pivots on his heel, dying to reach his sanctuary in the Astronomy Tower and away from the situation as fast as he can.

“Wait!” Louis calls out.

Harry turns back to face the boy, confused.

Louis combs his hair back with his fingers before taking a nervous breath. “I want to. I  _ really  _ want to, actually. But, I can’t.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, knowing he’s failing to hide his disappointment. He has to clear his throat in order to mask the embarrassed quiver.

“I can’t get up the stairs.”

Something breaks inside Harry, hearing that.

Louis stands there, looking dejectedly down at his feet. Harry suddenly thinks how hard it must be for him to get around the castle.

Louis helps Harry all the time, probably without ever realizing. Harry wants to do the same.

“Let me help you.” Harry offers out his hand to Louis. “I can carry you on my back.”

That apparently wasn’t the right thing to say.

Louis scowls, taking a half-step back away from Harry. He folds his arms delicately in front of his chest, just barely grasping at the skin of his forearms, as if he’s made of glass on the brink of breaking.

Harry knows in a way, he is.

“I’m not a child, Harry. I don’t need you to carry me like a doll.”

Normally, Harry would apologize. In fact, he’d probably apologize multiple times, swearing to take it back to appease the situation, turn it back on it’s heels and pray that he never upset anyone.

But he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s all the time he’s been stealing glances into them, or creepily day-dreaming about them, but Harry’s become rather familiar with Louis’ eyes. He can tell in his eyes that Louis doesn’t mean it. He can even see the regret piling up for his harshness.

Harry can’t pinpoint when he became so in tune with Louis Tomlinson and his all his isms, but he’s beginning to think he needs to stop questioning it all the time.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, placing a gentle hand on Louis’ elbow. It reminds him of when Louis woke him up from his nightmare. Harry tries to emulate how comforting that moment felt. “It’s just me. I’m not going to judge you.”

Louis looks up from where his eyes are hiding behind thick, long eyelashes.

They stand there for a moment, the two of them, eyes locking together, inviting and encouraging.

_ Encouragement.  _ Maybe this is Harry’s Burger moment.

Finally, Louis nods. “Yeah, okay. Yeah.”

Harry turns around and he can hear Louis take a swig of his draught. Before Harry can bend down a little bit for him, Louis grabs hold of Harry’s shoulder pushing himself up onto Harry’s back.

Harry sways forward a little bit with an, “ _ Oof!”  _ Louis giggles softly in Harry’s ear.

“Careful now, precious cargo.”

Harry rolls his eyes and fights another blush. Looks like Louis’ cheekiness is never too far away.

Once Louis is securely in piggyback-mode, arms and legs sufficiently wrapped around him, Harry pulls out his wand from his pocket.

_ “Wingardium Leviosa.” _

Harry sends his easel and paints up to the tower, Harry and Louis following close behind up the the steps.

Louis’ fairly small and not that heavy, though Harry doesn’t acknowledge the weight. He’s far too busy thinking about how close they are. Louis’ pressed closely to his back, so close Harry can faintly feel his heartbeat. He can also feel the wispy hairs of Louis’ fringe against his cheek. He hears the soft whistle he’s making as Louis breathes through his nose.

Harry wonders if this is close to what it felt like to cuddle through the night with him, not that he knows for sure. Harry was far too unconscious to jot down how warm the boy is and how nicely he fits around him into his memory.

Harry thinks too much about that night. It’s, frankly, becoming a problem, because each time his subconscious wanders into that station in his brain, Harry becomes a bit distraught with how much he wants to do it again. Each time, he quickly writes it off as a selfish desire for another nightmare-free few hours of sleep.

About three-quarters of the way up the stairs, Louis pulls Harry out of his thoughts.

“Quite the strong one, aren’t ya, Curly?” Louis teases.

Harry blushes, because, what’s new?

“Not really. Not much different than my easel, actually.”

Louis gasps and Harry can feel him smile.

“And  _ there’s _ the Styles cheek I’ve been hearin’ about all these years. I was starting to worry I’d never get to.”

A thought flashes in Harry’s mind, briefly wondering what else Louis’ heard about him before everything fell apart.

They finally reach the top and Harry bends down so Louis can gently slide off.

Once he’s back on his feet, Louis bundles his hands inside the sleeves of his school jumper and looks up at Harry sheepishly.

“Thank you, Harry. Sorry for kind of being a tit earlier. It sucks sometimes, feeling like I can’t do normal things by myself. I can get a bit defensive.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Louis,” Harry replies, tone clear that he really doesn’t mind at all. “I understand. I could hardly stand it after awhile of being babied by my mum and sister at the beginning of the summer. Not like I could say anything, though. I know they were only trying to help.”

Harry doesn’t realize quite what he’s said at first, only noticing the slightly surprised look on Louis’ face.

Harry shared something personal. He mentioned the summer, alluding to the beginning of his spiral due to the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

Harry viciously tries to ignore the lights going off in his head, telling him to shut down, don’t let it go any further than that. He’s trying and sort of failing, but he  _ just  _ got Louis up here and he really doesn’t want to send him away for something this stupid.

So instead, Harry clears his throat and heads over to his easel, which has set itself up under one of the archways in front of the balcony overlooking the Black Lake.

It’s a gorgeous day despite the chill in the air. The late afternoon sun creates a beautiful reflection in the water, the green and rolling Scottish hills just beyond it. Maybe he’ll give that a whirl.

“Are all of the staircases difficult? How do you manage around the rest of the castle?” Harry asks him, squirting a little bit of blue and green paint onto his palette. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

The question, he knows is a bit insensitive, especially since Louis  _ just  _ told him how defensive he is about it. It’s a selfish attempt to change the subject away from his overshare and he immediately regrets it. The last thing he wants is to upset Louis.

“Yeah, they are. Stan helps me when he can. Other than that, I make sure I give myself enough time to get where I need to be so I’m not late. I’ve got it pretty much all timed out by now. I’ve only been late to class once so far, so I guess that’s something.”

_ Defense Against the Dark Arts,  _ Harry thinks.  _ That one morning you had to sit in Zayn’s chair and never stopped. _

“It’s how I ended up sitting next to you, actually,” Louis quips, voicing Harry’s thoughts.“I fell out of bed that morning.”

Harry stops his brushstroke and turns around to look at Louis.

He’s sitting on one of the steps off to the side of the room, thumbing the smooth glass of his vial.

“I got tangled in my sheets and just fell right off. The pain in my back was so bad, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t get up.”

“No one tried to help you?” Harry interrupts, a bout of anger surging through him suddenly.

Louis shrugs, eyes moving from the vial to Harry. “I was the last one in the room. No one was there to help me.”

That surge of anger is almost immediately replaced with guilt. Harry’s always been an early riser, even before the nightmares began waking him up in the earlier hours of the morning, but…

_ I could’ve helped him. If I hadn’t left when I did that morning, I could’ve been there. _

“Don’t, Harry,” Louis warns. “I can tell what you’re thinking, and please don’t feel guilty about anything. It’s my own fault, really. I purposefully dawdle so I can be the last one out of the room. I don’t particularly fancy being joked at about how slow I can be just getting dressed in the mornings.”

Harry wishes he could hug him. He isn’t sure if that’s allowed.

“I’m so sorry you’re in pain, Louis.”

Louis smiles graciously, a closed-lipped, slightly slanted one. He shrugs.

“It is what it is.”

Harry isn’t sure he likes that answer, but he certainly doesn’t say so.

“How’d you end up getting to class?” Harry asks instead.

“Justin Bobbins had spent the morning in the bathroom hungover. He’d just gotten out of the showers and saw me on the floor. Helped me up.”

Louis stands then, walking aimlessly around the tower with his hands in his pockets.

Harry takes this as a sign that Louis wants to be done with the conversation, so Harry lets it go, turning back to his canvas.

He darts his eyes back and forth between what’s he’s done so far and the scenery outside. All he sees are some blue squiggles. This is going to be a lot harder the flowers, that’s for sure.

“In a way, I’m strangely glad I fell out of bed that morning,” Louis speaks up again from further into the tower. “I get to sit next to you now, don’t I?”

Harry turns his attention back over to Louis, who’s running his hands along the one of the large metal rings hanging from above in the center, smirking.

He nods, humming in acknowledgement before returning to his canvas. He doesn’t ask the question that’s been on his mind since that morning. He doesn’t ask why Louis still sits there even though he technically doesn’t have to anymore. Even though, Louis’ words make it sound as if the permanent seat change is still his only option. Harry’s decided he doesn’t want to know – he’s just going to let himself have this one.

It remains quiet for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Harry paints while Louis sits and watches. Every so often, Harry makes to ask if Louis’ bored, but each time he glances over his shoulder, Louis’ already looking back. He raises a pointed eyebrow and nods at him, as if to say  _ continue. _

Eventually, Harry steps back from the painting and groans. It’s only about a third of the way done and he already hates it.

“Why is this so fucking hard?” Harry complains out loud.

Normally, Harry is alone when he’s doing this, so he never expects a reply to his verbal griping. Which is why he nearly jumps a foot when Louis answers back. Louis had been so quiet and Harry had been so focused, he nearly forgot Louis was there.

“What’re you trying to paint?”

“The skyline from up here just looks so pretty,” Harry huffs. “I’ve only ever really done flowers and trees so far, but I didn’t think I was  _ this  _ rubbish.” He rips the page from the easel, turning around and walking toward over to the steps to show Louis his disaster-piece more clearly. He’s sitting down again, so Harry stops just short of the bottom step.

Louis bites his lip, quite obviously trying to stop himself from laughing.

“That’s supposed to be the Black Lake, now, is it?”

“Yes.”

“How…interpretive.”

Harry rolls his eyes while Louis snickers. “Bugger off. I’m only just learning. It’ll take some practicing, that’s all.”

Louis reaches up and points to a spot near the middle of the page.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

Harry follows his finger. “Oh, I tried to add in a Kelpie jumping out of the water.”

“Really? Looks a bit phallic to me, mate. Your subconscious trying to tell you something, H?”

Harry barks out a loud, honking laugh. Harry immediately slaps a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, because,  _ super attractive, Harry. _

Then he realizes something. Harry genuinely can’t remember the last time he laughed like that. Zayn used to make him laugh like that almost daily. Hell, Harry can’t remember the last time he laughed  _ at all. _

_ It felt so fucking good. _

Harry notices Louis staring up at him with a twinkle in his eye, his smile slowly growing larger.

“What?” Harry questions, self-consciously. “Do you I have paint on my face or something?”

Louis shakes his head, biting his lip again.

“No, I just forgot you had dimples.”

Harry flushes wildly. He runs his hand through his curls and turns to face the other way, when he feels Louis pull him back by his wrist.

“No, don’t. They’re lovely. Don’t let me forget about them again.”

Harry thinks Louis might be lovely, too.

*** 

Louis becomes a part of Harry’s routine.

After that first day in the Astronomy Tower together, Harry spends his afternoons up there with Louis, keeping him company while he paints.

They’ll talk about this and that – about tricky spells they can’t quite seem to master or the first glimpse of snow dusting the castle grounds.

Mostly, they laugh.

They joke and they tease and they  _ laugh  _ and fuck, does it make Harry feel on air.

Harry isn’t constantly choking on his words as much. The sad thoughts and memories don’t feel as devastating when Louis’ around and if that isn’t more of a reason to  _ keep  _ Louis around, then Harry doesn’t know what is.

He can’t quite explain it, this thing with Louis. Well, Harry would be lying if there wasn’t a niggling suspicion knocking on the backdoor of his mind, but he hasn’t answered it yet. Instead, he focuses all of the energy he has left each day for this boy that he’s found.

Louis even starts joining him and Niall for meals. Like the good friend that he is, Niall doesn’t comment on their newest addition, welcoming Louis with a friendly Irish shout and a pat of the back. However, Harry pretends not to notice Niall’s smug grin as he pointedly looks between the two of them.

Harry’s blush could probably give him away all the way from the Gryffindor table.

A week before Christmas holiday, Liam asks to join them during their meals, too. The four of them chat and eat, sometimes exchanging smiles that reach their eyes.

Harry wonders to himself if this is what healing looks like.

***

The day before Harry is set to go back home to Holmes Chapel, Louis asks him a question.

They’re sitting by the fire in the Slytherin common room, Harry gingerly thumbing a book while Louis sits on a cushion, his back as close to the flames as possible without it being too dangerous.

“Haz?”

“Hm?” Harry looks up from his book to acknowledge Louis.

Louis’ smirking shyly, playing with his fingers like he does when he gets nervous.

“Can I write you? While we’re both at home?”

Harry can feel his smile widening slowly, his heartbeat picking up.

“Really? You’d want to?”

Louis shrugs, returning Harry’s smile.

“Harry, talking to you is the best part of my day.”

As the heat of his blood began rushing almost immediately to his face, all Harry can do is bite his lip to stop whatever embarrassing squeal is sure to escape him.

“And I figured sending each other an owl would be nice,” Louis continues. “As I might miss you.”

Louis is blushing too, unable to hold eye contact with Harry for more than a few seconds at a time, but also unable to look away, waiting for Harry’s reaction.

Harry clears his throat and threads a hand through his curls before he can manage anything remotely close to English.

“I’d really like that, Lou. As I might miss you, too.”

Louis’ eyes crinkle as Harry hides his face back in his book, smiling like an absolute idiot.

***

Sitting at the dinner table with bowls of soup in front each of them, Gemma and Anne exchange curious, but visibly relieved looks at the difference in Harry.

Gemma had noticed right away, having picked him at King’s Cross before disapparating together back to Holmes Chapel. Harry and Louis had sat together during the train ride, and hugging him goodbye with another promise to write, Harry tumbled into his sister’s open arms still flush with the warmth of having spent hours talking and sitting close to Louis.

Harry couldn’t help it. Somewhere in the past month or so, Louis has become this battery source where Harry can recharge himself of the energy and hope he loses with each lingering memory or trigger, simply by being near him.

Gemma pulled back from Harry with a surprised grin on her face. Harry almost missed the slight lift of Gemma’s brow, her eyes darting between Harry and something behind him in the distance.

“Alright there, baby brother?” Gemma asked him, grabbing hold of Dusty’s crate for him while Harry rolled his luggage alongside him as they made their way off the platform.

“Yeah. I missed you.”

Gemma’s eyes had softened, before wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. “Missed you, too. ‘M glad to see your dorky mug smiling again.”

Harry rolled his eyes in response, unbothered by the comment, feeling the familiar pinch as Gemma disapparated them home.

Anne had practically broken his back, squeezing him in her arms the second he walked in through the door.

His mother stepped back, holding on to each of his shoulders as she inspected him from head to toe, as if to gauge the exact level of distress she clearly expected him to be in.

It was then that Harry had realized how much has changed in him compared to the last time he was home and how apparent that change must be to her. Back in September, the last time he saw either his sister or his mother, they looked at Harry as if he was a ghost, as if they had to be gentle enough with him that a misplaced hand could pass right through him. They weren’t really wrong, though, were they?

And now here is their boy again, many months later, unpacking his things in his room and helping to set the table without jumping at the loud clank the china makes against one another.

Anne looked just about ready to cry when Harry made a quiet pun about ladles while serving the soup.

The Harry he was in September feels so far away from him now, the progression of feeling more and more normal just sort of happened quite naturally for him throughout the course of the term, gaining so much more speed after meeting Louis.

_ Louis.  _ Harry wonders if he’s made it home okay. The long train ride had been unkind to his back.

Harry is pulled out of his thoughts, when Anne clears her throat, bringing his focus back to the dinner conversation.

“So, honey,” his mother smiles warmly at him. “Tell us about school. We stopped hearing from you after a while.”

_ Oh,  _ Harry thinks, sudden guilt passing through him. No wonder she and Gemma were taken aback at his difference in behavior. The last time he sent an owl home with a letter, he’d written about how frequent his nightmares were getting and how he still couldn’t sleep. Now that Harry thinks about it, that was all the way back in October, right before he woke up to Louis’ eyes staring back down at him in Slytherin common room.

“I’m sorry,” Harry quickly apologizes, “I guess I just got…distracted.”

_ Yes, distracted by handsome former Quidditch players with tremors and soft eyes. _

“Oh, no, darling. Don’t feel bad,” Anne amends, not wanting to trade this new change for his old anxieties. “I just got a bit worried is all. Though, it looks like perhaps whatever kept you distracted turned out to be a good thing?”

Harry starts to nod, opening his mouth to apologize again when Gemma interrupts.

“Does this  _ distraction  _ that’s got you looking so much better have anything to do with the boy you were hugging goodbye on the platform earlier?”

She’s wearing a small, knowing smirk on her face, though Harry’s startled bug eyes and pink flush would’ve done just as well on their own in answering her question.

His mother looks up from her soup, eyes wide with a clear tone of excitement in her voice. “A boy?”

_ Great. Cheers, Gems. _

Harry groans and wipes a hand down his face. “That was just a friend.”

“I don’t know, H. You two looked  _ pretty  _ cosy from where I was standing. Gentle, even,” Gemma teases.

_ Of course I was gentle. I didn’t want to hurt him. _

Harry doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes his time slurping his soup.

“So,” Anne quips,  _ so clearly  _ in the tone that all parents use when they insinuate… _ that  _ kind of thing – Harry can’t even bring himself to think it, having spent recent time by himself avoiding those thoughts altogether. “What’s his name?”

Harry sits up straight in his chair and sighs loudly, trying very hard to come off as annoyed at how  _ totally off-base  _ his mum and his sister are being.

This thing with Louis is…confusing, okay? Harry’s only just recently become aware of that fact that he may or may not feel something different toward his new friend; different than the way he feels about Niall and different than how he felt about Zayn. However, no matter what the fuck that feeling is, Harry is almost certain he doesn’t want to deal with it.

Harry doesn’t want to give the universe a new opportunity to see him vulnerable. Being vulnerable means setting yourself up to losing things – people, sanity, sense of self. His newfound comfort he’s gained in his life because of his friendship with Louis hasn’t cancelled the paranoia Harry gets when he’s alone at night.

He’s already lost someone. What if admitting the obvious leads to losing Louis, too? That would probably do it, Harry thinks. There probably wouldn’t be anything left in him to rebuild after that.

So Harry’s been squashing those thoughts as soon as they form.

“Louis,” Harry finally answers.

But of course, Harry, being the helpless loser that he is, smiles. He can’t fucking help it. He said Louis’ name and his first reaction is to smile.

“Wait a second,” Gemma says. She points a finger at Harry from across the table. Her smile is as big as it is genuine. “I was just trying to be an annoying big sister, but you’re  _ actually  _ blushing! Harry Styles, you start talking right now.”

Harry looks over to his mum in the hope that she’ll help him out, but finds that she is waiting just as eagerly for his answer.

Because this is family and he loves them, and because thinking about Louis makes him stupid, he concedes.

“Okay. His name is Louis. He’s also a Slytherin, seventh year, but I only just started talking him because we got paired in a group together at those grief counseling meetings I told you about. We’re friends, I guess? I don’t know. We sit together in class and he keeps me company while I paint. He helps me with my nightmares sometimes and I help him with, um, his stuff, too.” Harry chews on his bottom lip, eyes focused down the steaming vegetables and broth in his bowl. “He makes me feel…like myself again?”

Well, he certainly hadn’t planned on saying all that.

He looks up from his dinner to see Anne and Gemma’s matching faces of heartwarming delight. He even notices a glimmer of moisture in his mum’s eye.

“Mum, did you hear that? Our Harry’s  _ smitten. _ ” Gemma practically squeals.

Harry gives up pretenses, helplessly shrugging as he anxiously rubs at the back of his neck.

_ Smitten.  _ His heart flutters at the word.

Anne, however, reaches forward to grasp his hand, squeezing it tight. She sniffs and blinks back some unshed tears as she grins at him, elated.

“It’s okay, love. Friends, more than friends - it’s okay. I’m just so happy to see you looking healthier, happier. Whatever you want him to be, let him. After all you’ve been through this year, you deserve to have someone like that.”

Anne takes her hand out of his to cup Harry’s cheek, tenderly wiping away the the stray tears there. He didn’t realize he started crying.

Harry nods, nuzzling into his mum’s warm, comforting touch. He feels Gemma lace her fingers through his on his other side.

“Thank you, Mum. I don’t know if I said it before, but thank you. For everything.”

***

Being at home gets harder.

The more time he spends up in his childhood bedroom, away from school, the more time Harry has to remember how much he misses Zayn.

Zayn is everywhere in Holmes Chapel. He’s in the park around the corner they use to play at all day in the summer. He’s at the store four blocks over, when they use to save all their muggle money to buy sweets on the weekends. He’s in Harry’s room, in the photos on the nightstand and in the paintings in his closet. Harry’s fingers almost never stop toying with the necklace around his neck that he’s never once taken off since Trish gave it to him.

In all honesty, though a surprise to no one, the only thing keeping Harry from regressing back to the freshly grieving and traumatized wizard unwilling to emerge from his bed from the summer, are Louis’ letters.

Harry had promised him to write, so he took that to mean that is was his job to send the first one. However, on the second day of holiday, Harry woke to the squeak of a black and brown speckled owl outside his window.

Harry knew right away what the owl held in his foot, scrambling clumsily out of bed to open his window and thank the bird.

Impatient, Harry sat down on the floor just under the window and untied the string, unrolling the parchment.

In Louis’ distinct, messy scrawl, it read:

_ Dear Harry, _

_ Sorry if this makes me look a little clingy, but I just couldn’t wait for you to write to hear from you again. You should know this by now about me, I’m far too impatient. _

_ How was your first night back at home? Not too horrible a nightmare, I hope. I know how worried you were about them getting worse while at home. _

_ And your family? Tell your mum and Gemma I say hi! My sisters won’t shut up about you. I told them all about my new friend Harry. They’ve become a bit obsessed, H. Lottie’s got a thing for lads with curls. I don’t blame her…They all want to meet you, even Mum. Who knows, maybe they will one day. _

_ I’ve got a physical therapy appointment next week at St. Mungo’s and I’m a bit nervous. They’re always so painful. Luckily Mum is a healer and she can make me all the Calming Draught I need. She says I take enough as it is, though.  _

_ Please don’t take too long to reply. Like I said, I’m an impatient man. _

_ Louis x _

Harry had read the letter three times, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling too hard. It gave him a warm feeling to know Louis told his family about him,  _ and  _ they wanted to meet him. Louis told Harry all about his gaggle of little sisters, each one with their own personality. Louis adored them, and Harry could ask him a million questions about his family just to see his face light up when he answered. It almost always would distract Louis of the constant pain he was in.

Harry really wanted to meet them, too. Maybe one day they could all get together, Louis’ family and Harry’s.

After reading a fourth time, Harry moved from the floor to his desk where he began writing his reply.

Since then, the two boys have exchanged nearly a dozen letters.

Sometimes they are short, just a small anecdote here or there about Fizzy losing a tooth, or Harry testing out a new joke. Other times, more often, they use their letters to confide in each other. Harry will write to Louis about the nightmares that keep coming back – the same one, where Harry sees Zayn everywhere he goes, but is always somehow out of reach. Louis will write about how his physical therapy his going. About how guilty and upset he feels that he can’t build forts with the twins anymore, and how they don’t really understand why.

The letters help Harry when his heart hurts too much about Zayn, but it also makes Harry crave to be near Louis again.

It becomes clear to Harry  _ how much  _ of a hold this boy already has on him.

It’s Christmas Eve and Harry, Gemma, and Anne are all moving into the sitting room to play a game by the Christmas tree. Gemma whips out her wand and starts a fire in the fireplace while Anne hands each of her children a mug of piping hot tea.

It’s always been a holiday tradition for the the three of them to spend the night before Christmas playing their favorite muggle game, Scrabble, while listening to music.

Gemma’s already setting up the board at the coffee table in the middle of the room, but Harry doesn’t notice. He’s sitting in the armchair next to her, in the middle of writing Louis another letter.

“H, can you move your ink off the table before it spills?”

Without looking up, Harry moves the ink pot from the coffee table to the side table housing the lamp next the chair on his right. He dips his quill in the ink before starting another sentence.

He’s just about hit the bottom of the parchment, planning on writing more on the back, when he hears a woman clear her throat.

“Earth to Harry?” Gemma laughs. “Think you can pause on writing to your boyfriend and play with us?”

Harry finally looks up, knowing Gemma knows her choice of words would give her his attention.

“I told you, he’s not my boyfriend. But it  _ is  _ his birthday today, so please let me finish. I’m almost done, I promise.”

Gemma scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Gemma, leave him alone,” Anne tuts, the smile on her face giving away that despite letting Harry off the hook, her thoughts aren’t too far off from Gemma’s.

Harry quickly turns back his attention to the letter, because he is actually excited to play.

_ Make sure to tell me all about it. I want at least a full parchment’s worth of detail of how your day went. _

_ Happy Birthday, Lou. I’m sorry again that I’m not there to celebrate with you. And Happy Christmas. That’s for your family, too. _

_ I miss you. _

Harry scratches out that last sentence. That’s weird, isn’t it? Well, Louis  _ did  _ say that he might miss him while they were away. But, for some reason, it looks far more intimate written on paper. Too intimate perhaps for their type of friendship.

But it’s the truth. Harry misses him a lot. Like, real fucking badly.

Harry stares hard at the crossed out sentence in anxious contemplation until he feels a hand gently comb through his hair.

He looks up at Gemma, who’s perched herself now on the armrest of his chair, holding her mug and staring down at him, not unkindly. In fact, without having peeked at his writing, which Harry knows she wouldn’t have, it’s almost as if she could hear his struggle in his head from the other side of the room.

“You’re scowling so hard. Your face might get stuck like that,” she teases, scratching soothingly at his scalp. Her way of trying to chill him out.

Harry thinks for a moment. On a scale of one to ten, how embarrassing would it be to ask his older sister how to sign off on a birthday letter for his totally platonic friend/pen pal/human safety blanket?

_ Human safety blanket? Okay, H, that thought is  _ never  _ seeing the light of day. _

“Um…”

And of course, because his sister is one of the most brilliant people he knows, she seems to understand this unspoken dilemma as well.

“May I?” Gemma asks for permission, gesturing to the parchment in Harry’s lap with her head.

Feeling silly, and a little bit helpless, Harry only hesitates for a moment before he nods yes.

She leans forward, reading from the page silently to herself before she smirks encouragingly.

“Just write it, H.”

And that’s all she says, hopping off the armrest to move back to her original seat, but not before ruffling his curls first.

“Now, finish up. I have a feeling I’m going to beat you this time.”

Harry laughs, “You wish.”

He does it before he thinks too much about it.

_ I miss you. Talk to you soon. _

_ Harry x. _

He shakes the page to dry the ink before folding it gently and handing it off to the family owl, Peaky at the kitchen window.

He smiles to himself, stomach all jumbled with the thought of Louis reading his birthday message soon, surrounded by his family. He hopes it makes him smile.

Harry wins both rounds of Scrabble, for the first time, actually feeling grateful that he survived. And if that isn’t some kind of Christmas miracle, then Harry sure as hell doesn’t know what else could be.

***

Back at Hogwarts, Harry and Louis spend all their free time together in the Astronomy Tower, making up for the weeks they spent apart.

Despite persevering through the obvious triggers of being back at home, Harry felt almost refreshed coming back to school after spending some well-needed time with his mum and sister. He left them with hugs and promises to be better at keeping touch before Gemma took him back to King’s Cross, throwing out a cheeky, “Say hello to your boy for me!” as he boarded the train. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet seen Louis.

All that being said, when he  _ did  _ eventually find Louis, where he sat waiting for Harry in one of the compartments, it was as if Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he was still holding in.

It’s been a week since classes have resumed for second term and Harry and Louis haven’t spent one day without one another. 

Today, it’s Monday and it’s raining. Cracks of loud thunder reverberate loudly against the tower.

Louis’ curled up in a Slytherin blanket, sitting where he usually does on the steps. He mentioned earlier to Harry about having taken a nap after his morning lesson before meeting up with Harry, and how it was too cold to leave behind the blanket he kept on his bed.

Harry studies him from his easel.

His hair lay spiked in many directions, most likely from sleeping against his pillow. He still has sleep in his eyes, looking so unbelievably soft that Harry can, honestly, hardly stand it.

_ You are quite the picture Louis Tomlinson. _

Harry’s eyes widen, the lightning outside striking a bulb inside his brain.

Louis must feel Harry’s gaze on him, as he lifts his head to meet Harry’s eyes.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Louis smirks, eyes twinkling as they do.

Harry just shakes his head, but he doesn’t lose his smile. “Nothing. Tell me more about Lottie’s boyfriend.”

Louis groans and throws his hands up in the air, wincing only slightly.

“His name’s  _ Dale.  _ What kind of eleven-year-old is named  _ Dale _ ? Not to mention – they’re eleven! Eleven, Harry! She’s far too young to have a boyfriend. Mum’s no help either, she thinks its  _ cute. _ ”

Now that Louis’ sufficiently distracted, Harry tears away the canvas of grey raindrops he had just started. Turning his easel further from Louis’ line of vision, Harry pours out some brown and blue paint onto his palette.

“And all they do is eat ice cream and hold hands! How is that considered a relationship? Wait…they’d  _ better  _ only be holding hands…”

Harry’s never attempted to paint other people before, and more likely than not he’ll be complete rubbish at it. That said, Harry can’t  _ not  _ try when he’s this inspired.

***

On January 12th, Zayn’s birthday, Harry has the worst nightmare of them all. 

***

_ “This isn’t bloody fair! Some of us aren’t even his followers!” _

_ “We should be able to fight for our school, too!” _

_ “How dare you disgrace your family name with such talk!” _

_ All sorts of Slytherin voices shout over one another to be heard as the entire house is practically dragged away back to the dungeons from the Great Hall by Filch, who is showing all too much joy in doing so considering the imminent doom they are  _ all  _ about to face. _

_ Harry, having been swept up in the commotion before he could find a moment to escape from the rest of the Slytherins, shakes from his curls to his toes. Whether it’s from some sort of adrenaline rush or pure terror, he isn’t sure. Maybe both – probably both. _

_ What he does know, is that as much as it sounds like the easy way out, he can’t stay in the dungeon like a sitting duck. _

_ Real shit is happening just beyond the castle walls, or about to start at least. There’s no way a bunch of inexperienced children and a few professors can fight off a whole army of dark wizards and all their power. _

_ Regardless, this is happening. It’s  _ really  _ happening. _

_ All the bad shit that has gone down throughout the years – the petrifications his first year, the death of the Minister, Professor Dumbledore, Snape and the Carrows, the return of You-Know-Who, all of it – it’s all coming now to a head. Harry can feel it. Whatever happens tonight is going to change the world and he’s going to be an eyewitness. _

_ Well, maybe. That’s yet to be determined. He might die. _

_ That’s actually a thing – he might  _ die.  _ He might never get to see his mum and sister ever again. He might never get to graduate or grow up or fall in love. _

_ Part of Harry wants to tuck himself into bed with Dusty, plug his ears, and pretend this isn’t his reality anymore. It’s down to fight or flight, and while Harry has never been one for spending excess time on any broomstick, his instincts are telling him to fly. _

_ But if he does hide away in bed, who is to say what will happen after tonight? _

_ Harry’s destiny will fall into the hands of other people. _

_ If Harry is going to die, he’d rather let it be at the hands of his own fumbling stupidity, than by willingly giving up the rights to his own future. _

_ Not to mention, Zayn is out there somewhere. He needs to find Zayn. _

_ Harry sits on one of the couches in the common room, thinking. The room is chaotic with Slytherins shouting and some even threatening each other. Tensions are high and Harry can’t quite gauge who amongst his house is good and who isn’t. _

_ Maybe he can gather a few other people who want to join the fight. Surely there are others who loathe the idea of being trapped in a box without a real chance to prove themselves as more than a wizard dressed in green destined to go dark. _

_ Harry stands, just about to make his proposition, when a figure comes busting through the entrance to the dungeons and into the common room. At least a dozen of his classmates, including himself, ready their wands in defense. _

_ Harry lets out a relieved breath when Professor Slughorn shows himself, huffing and red-faced, as if he couldn’t reach his students fast enough. _

_ “Professor!” Stan shouts as he abrasively parts himself through the crowd to reach him. “You can’t let them keep us down here. We –“ _

_ “Hush, Lucas. Save your energy. You’ll be needing it.” Slughorn interrupts the sixth-year, who is pulled back out of the way by his friend, one of the quidditch players Harry thinks. _

_ Harry’s mind is drawn back into focus when Slughorn addresses the lot of them as a whole, brow set serious, the old wizard’s body nearly shaking like a leaf. _

_ “Listen here. We don’t have much time, but you must look inside yourselves and make a choice. Slytherin House is not the home of cowards. We are not weak in the face of tyranny. Are you going to let your house, and by extension yourselves, go down in history as the ones who sat idle and let this happen without a proper fight? Or worse, continue to let the false securities of your blood statuses blind you from a world of destruction ahead?” _

_ Slughorn’s speech hangs in the air. There’s a moment of silence as students looks from one another. _

_ Harry can see the hesitation in some eyes. He can see the internal conflicts of those who are trying to reconcile what is obviously right and what they have been brought up to believe. _

_ Harry shakes to his core and there  _ isn’t any time  _ for this. _

_ He’s got adrenaline coursing through him, his heart beating more wild than it probably ever has in his life. All he can think about is getting to Zayn. About doing what he can to protect his mum and Gemma and their futures. _

_ Harry surprises even himself by being the first to step forward. He feels dozens of eyes on him; shy little Harry Styles leading Slytherin House in a call to arms. _

_ “Tell us what to do, Professor.” _

_ “I agree with Harry, sir,” Another voice speaks up just behind him. “Tell us where to go.” _

_ Harry turn around toward the voice, not for a second expecting to see the blue eyes of Louis Tomlinson. _

_ For the shortest of moments, Harry locks gazes with the boy, breathless, before it’s quickly over. _

_ “Those of you choosing to fight, come with me. We’ll need reinforcements.” Slughorn orders, beckoning students to follow him out of the dungeons. Stan Lucas leads them in a thundering battle cry, and the Slytherins are released out into the the castle, scattering like bugs in all different directions. _

_ Harry feels the faintest sensation of eyes on his back, but when he turns there isn’t anyone there. _

_ He needs to focus. He needs to find Zayn. _

_ If Harry thinks the dungeons were bordering on chaos, he is unprepared for what he sees as he runs closer to all the action. _

_ So much has happened already in the time he spent down there. There is rubble everywhere; stone walls and staircases have been blown into dust and pebbles. Portraits that once hung on every surface are strewn haphazardly, broken, ripped, or burned. _

_ He hears screaming next. The tell tale sounds of explosions and magic zipping all around and in every direction. Witches and wizards shout out their spells at the top of their lungs, as if the shear amount of volume in their voices could produce more powerful magic. _

_ Harry’s ears are hot when he realizes he has no idea where he’s run to. He has absolutely no clue where Zayn might be. He could be anywhere in this fucking castle. _

_ He’s just rounding the corner before the stairs leading down toward the Great Hall when Harry sees the first body. _

_ Harry halts, covering his mouth with a trembling hand. “Merlin.” _

_ A girl is slumped on her side just beside the top of the steps, arms folding awkwardly in different directions underneath herself. Her blonde hair is stained red – Harry gulps, realizing that it couldn’t be anything other than blood. _

_ It dawns on Harry then, that there are probably many more bodies out there. _

_ He finds himself walking toward the girl. He knows he needs to find Zayn, but. _

_ This girl deserves a moment of his silence. _

_ Once he reaches her, Harry squats down to the ground. Unsure, he gently pulls at her shoulder to lay her down on her back. The second he sees her face, Harry chokes on a gasp, leaning quickly away onto his heels. _

_ Perrie Edwards. She’s a sixth year like him, a Hufflepuff, and probably one of the nicest girls he’s ever met. He was her Potions partner back in fourth year, where she once told him that she wanted to become a singer. She had a beautiful voice. Harry bites on his bottom lip, fighting a sob as his eyes start to water. _

_ Maybe he can’t do this. He can’t handle seeing his peers – people he’s grown up with lying lifeless and helpless. Even more now than before he knew who she was, Harry wants to take a second to mourn her. _

_ Leaning back down closer to her, Harry notices two things as he brushes her blonde hair out of her face. The first is the large, bloody gash on the side of her right temple. The second, is that she’s breathing. Just barely, and she’s definitely unconscious, but Harry now sees the shallow and slow rising of her chest. _

_ “Thank, Merlin,” Harry breathes out. _

_ He doesn’t know what to do. He has to help her. He has to get her to help, but he doesn’t know where the fuck that is. And he still has to find Zayn – _

_ Zayn. _

_ Harry looks back down to Perrie. What if Zayn is just as hurt? Or worse, what if Harry is too late? _

_ He makes a decision. _

_ “Don’t worry, Pez.” Mustering all the strength he has, Harry lifts Perrie up into his arms, her limbs lying limp in his. He walks over to an alcove on the other side of the staircase awning, secluded enough from the rubble as Harry can possible find. He gently lays Perrie back down under the alcove, making sure there aren’t any uncomfortable pieces of rock underneath her. “Stay here. When this is over, I’ll come back. I’ll come get you help, I promise.” _

_ Harry stands back up, though he hesitates before leaving. He feels torn having to leave her, not even sure if she is going to make it until after this is all over. Still, he might already be out of time. He has to go find his best friend. _

_ Harry forces himself to turn around and run down the grand staircase. _

_ He can see in the distance that the majority of the fighting is happening out in the quad. _

_ It’s horrible. Trolls and ogres stomping, the unmistakable black shadows of Death Eaters zooming amongst Hogwarts students on the ground and in the air on broomsticks. _

_ It’s daunting, but Harry knows that’s where he should be headed. Zayn is probably out there. _

_ So that’s the direction he runs to. Harry runs as he ducks, avoiding blasts that come at him out of nowhere. He stops dead in his tracks when all of a sudden, a Death Eater lands just a few metres in front of him, grinning sinisterly as he lifts his wand. _

Fight or flight, Harry.

_ He blocks the Death Eaters spells, not quick enough to be on anything other defense. A blast of blue light aims right at Harry’s face, just narrowly missing him as Harry jumps out of the way, falling to the ground. _

_ The Death Eater cackles at him, a bellowing and condescending laugh that makes Harry’s blood boil in rage. It’s a foolish mistake on the Death Eater’s part, however, because his laughing gives Harry an opportunity to aim his wand and cast his own blast. Harry sees the whites of his eyes grow larger as it hits him square in the chest, sending him flying down the corridor, landing in a still heap. _

_ Harry hears the faint crack of skull against stone. _

_ He breathes heavily, chest heaving up and down, up and down. He’s never in his life used his magic to hurt anyone else, had never desired to. It scares him almost, how in a sudden bout of anger, Harry hadn’t even hesitated before he sent the Death Eater soaring. _

_ This is war, he reminds himself. You’re as good as dead if you don’t do whatever you need to do to defend yourself. _

_ In his peripheral vision, Harry notices a red drop fall onto the white sleeve of his uniform. In the excitement, Harry hadn’t noticed the dull throb he now felt on the side of his cheek. Bringing his hand up to the sting, he discovers a thin gash. _

_ “Fuck,” Harry breathes, looking down at his fingertips now painted with his own blood. _

_ He doesn’t waste another second, standing back on his feet, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, picking up his wand and continuing on toward the quad. _

_ He almost gets there. _

_ Just as he sees the opening corridor in the close distance and loud, booming force blows Harry right off of his feet, knocking the wind right out of him as he lands with a thud. Harry gasps for a breath of air, coughing up the dust that is settling all around him. _

_ He lifts his head, eyes widening in fear at what he finds. _

_ His path to the quad is completely blocked off by a blazing wall of tall flames, trapping Harry completely in a corner, with no visible opening. _

_ His heart is absolutely pounding in his chest, it almost hurts. Harry looks around himself frantically for his wand but fails. _

_ He’s crying now, full on sobbing. _

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

_ Without his wand, there is no way out of this one. He wants to scream, say his prayers and tell his mum and Gemma that he loves them, but this can’t be it. He can’t just sit in ball while the flames draw in closer and closer. He isn’t done fighting. _

_ “HELP!” Harry yells at the top of his lungs. He yells as loud as he can, hoping for the love of Merlin that someone can hear him over the commotion and the flames. His throat starts to hurt, both from the screeching and the ashy smoke making its way into his lungs. _

_ “HELP ME!” He screams again, feeling almost lightheaded. But he’s determined. He’ll scream for his life until he passes out from being out of breath or until the flames finally claim him. _

_ A few more helpless minutes pass by of yelling for help to no avail, until Harry hears it. _

_ “Hello? Anyone back there?” A voice calls from the other side of the fire wall. “Hello!” _

_ “Help! Yes, I’m back here! I can’t find my wand, help me please!” _

_ There’s a pause and Harry panics for a moment, thinking whoever was going to save him is gone. He’s about shout again, thinking maybe the person just didn’t hear him, when. _

_ “Harry? Is that you?” _

_ Zayn. Harry now hears the distinct accent of his best friend’s voice. Harry is quick to his feet. _

_ “Zayn! Yes! Yes, it’s me!” _

_ “Oh shit,” Harry hears Zayn curse. “Okay, hold on Hazza. I’m going to get you out!” _

_ Only another moment or two passes, Harry watching the blazes now right at his eye level, sweat soaking him everywhere in the heat of it, when Zayn’s voice sounds again, loud and booming. It nearly throws Harry off, as Zayn has always been a quiet creature. However, the Ravenclaw is ferocious when protecting the ones he loves. _

_ “ _ AGUAMENTI MAXIMA! _ ” _

_ A wave of clear, cold water creeps over the top of the fire wall like a tsunami, engulfing the flames around Harry until they sizzle out. _

_ Harry stands there watching it all unfold in front of him, until the wave answers to gravity, falling toward him. Harry crouches down, covering his head with his arms as he braces the crash of the water. He clenches his eyes and mouth, shoved onto his knees by the heavy pressure of water falling all around him. Once it all settles, Harry pushes back his wet hair from his face, gasping for air and blinking rapidly. _

_ “Haz!” _

_ Harry looks up just in time to see Zayn rush to him, falling to his own knees, probably scraping them, and scooping a soaking Harry up to his chest. Uncaring about getting wet himself, Zayn lets out a huge sigh of relief, cradling the back of Harry’s head. Harry himself breathes heavily into Zayn’s neck, fresh tears brewing. _

_ This is what Zayn does. He protects Harry. He protects and saves Harry and Harry loves him so much. Saving Harry from teasing and bullies is second nature to Zayn, but this time, Zayn saved his actual life and Harry has never felt so lucky to have him as his best friend. He feels it. He feels it deep in his bones, that he’ll always have Zayn to save him for the rest of his life. _

_ “There you are,” Zayn says into Harry’s wet curls. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” _

_ “Had to get out of the dungeons. Holy shit. How did you conjure up a wave that fucking huge, Z?” _

_ “I have no fucking clue.” _

_ Harry chuckles, pulling back a little to look at Zayn. He’s covered in dirt and there’s a large chunk of his jumper and button down missing, exposing a few of his scratched ribs. _

_ “Are you okay?” Harry nods to the scratches. _

_ Zayn nods. “I am now that I’ve found you.” _

_ Harry nods back, “Thanks, Z.” _

_ “Of course, H.” _

_ Zayn helps Harry up to his feet, shivering slightly in his damp clothes. The battle just beyond the corridor continues. Harry and Zayn share a look, knowing that just standing where they are now isn’t an option. _

_ “My wand,” Harry says, frantically searching the rubble around him.  _

_ “Here, I got it,” Zayn bends down to pick it up. Harry sighs in relief, thankful that it’s still in one piece.  _

_ “Thank you,” Harry gulps, his throat coarse. “What do we do now?” He knows the answer, but he wants to hear it from Zayn. _

_ Zayn pauses a moment, contemplating his answer. “We do our part.” _

_ Harry nods and together, they march down the remainder of the corridor toward the quad and the heart of all the fighting. _

_ Zayn rushes ahead down the steps before Harry stops him, grabbing hold on his shoulder. _

_ “Stay close to me. Please?” _

_ Zayn’s amber eyes hold Harry’s green ones in a serious, weighted gaze. _

_ For as long as they have been friends, Zayn has always held himself with an air of amused indifference. That’s not to say that Zayn never cared about anything, only that he never took life too seriously. He was quiet, sensitive. Go with the flow. Harry’s always admired that about him. It gave balance to Harry’s tendency toward overthinking and overanalyzing everything. _

_ In this moment, Harry can see in Zayn’s eyes how serious he is now. Neither one of them are saying it, probably because neither of them wants to admit that it’s true, but they know what they are walking into. There is no amused indifference in Zayn now. Refusing to acknowledge the possibility of not surviving doesn’t help them any. _

_ This is their silent goodbye, just in case. _

_ Zayn pulls Harry toward him forcefully, holding him tight in his arms. _

_ “Always, Hazza. Always.” _

_ Zayn pulls away and turns back toward the stairs, nodding his head toward the action. “C’mon. Let’s do this.” _

_ In all honesty, Harry feels euphoric. _

_ After they had their moment, the two raced together straight into fray. They joined forces with a couple of Gryffindors fighting off Death Eaters casting spells from the air as they swoop down from every direction. _

_ Harry is manic, veins pumping with a high he can’t quite describe, as he blocks curse after curse bounding toward him. _

_ Here he is, nerdy and shy Harry Styles, who has never really felt like he amounted to anything important as a wizard, fighting for the good of the wizarding world, experiencing history in the making with his best friend at his side. If he survives, he’ll get to tell his children, and his children’s children all about how he was  _ here,  _ in the midst of what is sure to be the most epic battle of good versus evil. _

_ For a moment, Harry feels powerful. If he were to die within the next minute, he would die knowing it was for something important. He’ll have done something that his family could be proud of. _

Our Harry, a war hero.

_ Harry’s thoughts of exhilaration are cut short, however, because the next thing he knows, he’s knocked hard to the ground, a Death Eater swooping by him fast enough to lift him off his feet. Harry’s wand goes flying in the opposite direction. _

_ He sits up in what feels like slow motion, a shrill ringing sounding in his ears. He brings a hand up to his temple, where there’s now a dull throb, groaning. _

_ Luckily it’s not a concussion, as it only takes a moment for Harry to shake off the ringing and gather his bearings. He’s almost all the way back on his feet, but a sudden, tight grip yanks him by the ankle back onto the dirt. _

_ “Argh!” Harry cries out, as his chin bounces forcefully onto the ground, causing him to bite down painfully onto his tongue. It doesn’t take more than a second for him to detect the unmistakable rusty taste of blood. Harry spits some of it out, wiping his mouth in disgust before turning around to see what the fuck that was. _

_ Harry’s eyes widen almost comically in terror at what he sees. _

_ Crawling over a pile of rocks and rubble only a short distance away is a giant Acromantula, no less than fifteen feet tall, looking hungrily at Harry – who’s ankle is caught it its web. _

_ Harry wheezes in panic, trying to pull himself free. He looks in the direction of his wand, but it’s too far out of his reach. _

_ Then, a second web shoots out and circles around his other ankle and the Acromantula starts to reel Harry in like a fish, dragging him across the quad. _

_ Harry screams. He desperately tries to crawl free in the opposite direction, clawing at the gravel for leverage, not even concerned in the slightest about the dirt gathering underneath his breaking fingernails. _

_ Harry sees Zayn up ahead, his back to him throwing spells left and right, not yet noticing Harry’s need for help. _

_ “Zayn!” Harry yells, voice gravelly, unable to gather enough air out of his lungs as he’s being dragged. He coughs violently, blood and dust in the air clogging up his throat. _

_ Zayn pivots around, having heard Harry’s cries for him. As soon as he sees Harry, getting scarily close to now to the spider as it starts to reel its web back in faster, Zayn lifts his wand and points it toward the enormous eight-legged beast. _

_ “ _ Stupefy! _ ” _

_ Zayn blasts the Acromantula clear across the quad, the spider screeching loudly. It lands with a thud, sliding a few metres on its back, knocking over a few of the bad guys off their feet like bowling pins. _

_ Harry cackles at the sight behind him, “Fucking hell, Zayn! Did you see that?” _

_ It happens too fast. _

_ Harry’s just turning his head back forward. Zayn’s still a distance away, but he’s smiling, wide and bright, his whole face flush with relief. _

_ Zayn doesn’t see the Death Eater behind him raise his wand to his back. _

_ Harry’s eyes bug out of their sockets. He shrieks, “ZAYN, LOOK OUT!” _

_ Zayn is too late picking his guard back up. He hasn’t even fully begun turning around, wand just barely risen, when a green blast hits him square in the back below his shoulders. Zayn’s body lurches at the contact before it seizes. His brown eyes are the last thing to still, locked on Harry, just clinging to life. His body crumbles, his knees hitting the ground first before the rest of him follows.  The Death Easter laughs maniacally before disapparating in a cloud of black smoke into the sky. _

_ Harry screams bloody fucking murder. _

_ He tries desperately to rush to Zayn, but meets resistance. He’s still stuck in the Acromantula’s web. _

_ He’s running out of time. He has to get to Zayn, he has to get to Zayn right fucking now. _

He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead.

_ Harry refuses to believe anything other than he has to save him. He has to get to Zayn and he has to fucking save him or what’s the fucking point? Zayn’s his best friend, has always been his best friend. Zayn’s always saved him, for fuck’s sake he’s saved Harry twice tonight. It’s Harry’s turn. _

_ Harry looks around him helplessly until he spots a sharp rock to his left within arms length. He grabs it, folding himself in half, using the jagged edges frantically to cut his ankles from the web. His hands are shaking harder than they ever have and the tears that are gushing down his face make it harder to see, but that just makes Harry more manic in his cutting. _

_ The final seam of web finally snags and Harry tries to jump to his feet before yelling out in pain and once again falling to the ground. He winces, apparently having not noticed to swelling of one of his ankles, no doubt probably broken. _

_ Harry ignores it. He crawls instead, rushing on elbows and knees as he finally reaches his fallen friend, retrieving his wandon the way. He needs his wand to fix Zayn. _

_ But Harry can see. He can see that any spell he could manage to think of would be futile. _

_ Zayn’s face is drained of any colour. His hand, the one with the ring he always wears, has lost its grip around his wand. His eyes are glassy and unblinking. His heart is quiet. _

_ Harry breaks. He was already kind of cracked, but now he’s shattered to irreplaceable pieces. _

_ He gathers Zayn into his arms and cradles his lifeless body into his chest, rocking back and forth as he wails. _

_ “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” _

_ Outside their little bubble, the battle is still happening around them. Harry wants to go. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to go home; he wants to bring Zayn home. He wants to wake up. This is all a dream – a nightmare. This is all just a terrible, terrible nightmare and he’s going to wake up and Zayn is going to be there and he’s going to ask Harry how he likes the book he’s reading and if he wants to come with him to watch Liam Payne play against the Hufflepuffs. _

_ This isn’t real, he wants to scream. THIS ISN’T REAL. _

_ But it is real. _

_ There’s only a small fraction of Harry right now that’s still connected to reality, and that fraction knows he can’t stay out here in the open while he mourns and rejects what’s just happened. He’ll get killed, too. And something deep in him still wants to live. _

_ So, despite having witnessed his world end right in front of him, Harry takes a deep, shaking breath to calm himself down as much as he can. He wipes his eyes and nose with his torn sleeve, close to vomiting with how disgusting and horrible he feels. _

_ He looks up. Not too far from them is a fallen pillar holding up a collapse section of stone wall, looking like a makeshift shelter. _

_ Without taking another second to think, using up all the adrenaline and strength he still has in him, Harry drags both himself and Zayn to the pillar. He let’s go of Zayn for only a moment as he crawls underneath the wall before pulling Zayn under after him. _

_ Harry lays on his side, trembling. He drapes Zayn’s body over himself and tries his fucking hardest not to whimper as he plays dead. _

_ But to Harry, he honestly might as well be. _

***

Harry wakes up drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

He can’t breathe. He’s drowning, or suffocating, or being smothered – Harry can’t tell, but he can’t fucking breathe.

A broken, mangled sob escapes him that he can’t trap and he feels like he’s dying.

His nightmares are always horrible, always clear visions of what he saw, what he experienced that fateful day in May. But they always happen in snippets; montages that string together and flash by so quickly in his mind that they scare him, leaving him winded because he can’t quite keep up, can never catch focus of one particular moment and he wakes up frightened and overwhelmed. He never thought it could get worse than that.

In all these months, Harry’s never had to relive that whole night in its entirety, moment by agonizing moment. He’s never had to relive the worst minutes of his life in painstaking clarity, watching his best friend die right in front of him while Harry did nothing to stop it.

_ You were supposed to help him. You were supposed to stay close. It’s all your fault. You did this to him, you let him die! You’re so stupid, you’re so fucked up. Feel it. Feel the pain you caused. _

He still can’t breathe. He wraps his fingers tightly around his necklace dangling Zayn’s ring, as if its chain was the thing choking him, cutting off his air supply.

He was doing so much better. Things were going so well. He had less screaming nights, had less damning thoughts about himself. He was starting to remember the happy moments with Zayn rather than be constantly clouded with only the bad ones.

Harry tries to take his big breath, but he can’t.

After the initial shock of waking up, Zayn’s death fresh and replaying over and over and over again behind Harry’s opening eyes, Harry has one persistent thought that keeps fighting its way in front of the others:

He needs Louis.

He needs Louis right now.

Harry doesn’t even know what time it is and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about politeness or whether Louis will be annoyed if Harry wakes him up. He just needs him.

Harry sits up, throwing his damp duvet to the side. He throws his legs over the side and parts the curtains surrounding his bed. His feet stomp down heavily against the wood floor as he takes the few steps to Louis’ bed, the next one over to the left of his.

He yanks back Louis’ velvet green curtain to find him under his covers and sleeping on his back. He has a pinched look on his face while he sleeps, meaning Louis probably isn’t having a particularly good night either. Additionally, Louis’ either a light sleeper or wasn’t really sleeping at all, because after only a few beats, two blue eyes peek out from behind Louis’ lids.

Louis looks up at him, confused at first, no doubt wondering why the hell Harry’s barged in on him, then he notices the right state Harry is in.

“Hazza? What’s wrong?” Louis whispers.

“Lou –“ is all Harry can get out before choking on another sob. “P-please…”

“Hey, hey,” Louis says quietly in a soothing tone. He sits up slowly, using his hands to push up his bum, sliding himself carefully to the side of the bed. “Come here. It’s okay.”

Harry’s so desperate for him that he doesn’t even ask Louis if he’s sure. He climbs into the bed beside Louis, closing the curtain back behind them and encasing them in darkness.

There’s a rustle of the sheets, and Harry realizes Louis must have been looking for his wand, because he hears a soft, “ _ Muffliato _ ,” followed by a, “ _ Lumos _ .”

There’s lightness again, and Harry can more clearly see Louis, his face painted in concern.

“You’re alright, H. Was it another nightmare?”

Harry nods his head up and down. He wants to be able to breath again. He wants to be closer.

“Lou, c-can you please…” Harry stutters. “Can you hold me please?”

Louis looks out of his depth. He himself looks a bit overwhelmed, and how can he not? Harry all but ambushed him in the middle of the night, crying, and now he’s demanding cuddles like a baby?

But he wants it enough that he doesn’t take it back.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Louis props up his wand against the headboard beside him, the light dimming a bit as it hides between the folds of the velvet green fabric, but doesn’t disappear altogether, leaving them a nice, soft nightlight. Louis slowly lowers himself back onto his back, resting his head against his pillow. When he’s finally settled, he looks up back at Harry, who despite asking for this, is now hesitant, meeting Louis’ eyes, unsure.

But Louis decides for him. He gently reaches out for Harry’s forearm, guiding him to lay down beside him, Harry’s head resting on top of Louis’ chest. Louis’ right arm wraps around the back of Harry, settling just over his ribcage.

“Am I hurting you?” Harry asks.

“No, Haz. Don’t worry about me.”

Harry isn’t so sure, but he’s selfish, and he nuzzles himself into the boy, holding on like he’s drifting too far out in unsafe waters and Louis’ the only buoy in sight.

Louis soothingly moves his hand up and down Harry’s side. Harry can feel Louis’ lips resting ever-so-lightly against his temple.

They’ve never done this before. They accidentally fell asleep together that first night they talked in the common room –that night feels so far away now – but in the few months that their friendship has flourished and they’ve become more and more comfortable with each other, they’ve been together this intimately.

It feels right to Harry. He prays it feels right to Louis too, because Harry isn’t so sure he can leave now that he’s here.

“Jeez, H. You’re shaking like a leaf,” Louis breathes into his hair. He stretches out his free hand and pulls the duvet all the over them.

“Thank you.” Harry says it quietly into Louis’ neck, so quiet Louis almost might’ve missed it if they weren’t huddled so close.

Louis makes gentle circles with thumb against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, breathing into Harry’s tangled hair.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. Just know that you’re okay now. You’re safe with me.”

Louis’ words, while being just the thing Harry needs to hear, remind him of what he saw, prompting another round of uncontrollable sobbing.

For awhile, Harry cries away all his grief and Louis holds him.

He cries until his throat is dry and hoarse, unattractively soaking Louis’ neck with salty tears and snot. Eventually, the tears subside and Harry’s body begins to the relax into Louis. He looks up at the canopy above, eyes sore, mind and body falling into a drained and defeated numbness.

They fall silent, the only sounds being the slight wheeze of Harry’s nose and Louis’ steady, calming breaths.

After a few minutes, Harry speaks up.

“I killed him.”

He feels Louis still. “What?”

“I killed him,” Harry repeats quietly, voice tired and strained and it comes out as a pained croak. “Zayn. He’s dead because of me.”

There’s a beat before Louis slowly starts pulling away. Harry panics, thinking he’s finally done it, finally told Louis the truth about what he’s done and now Louis wants nothing to do with him.

_ Not that I blame him. Who would want to be around someone who killed their best friend. _

Louis somehow reads Harry’s mind. “It’s okay, Haz. I’m just re-adjusting.” He says it as if it’s meant to make Harry feel better, only it doesn’t. It actually makes him feel worse.

“You told me I wasn’t hurting you.” Harry’s tears threaten to return.

“No, no,” Louis shushes him, “I just want to see you.”

Harry doesn’t understand what he means at first, until Louis slides him off his chest and sets him onto the mattress. Louis then slowly turns onto his right side so that they now lie face to face. They’re close in this position, noses only a few inches apart.

Harry curls close in on himself, tucking his arms deep into his chest. He notices the look of concern on Louis’ face, his eyebrows pinched as his blue eyes search every detail of Harry’s face.

Louis slowly lifts his left hand but he hesitates in his motion, as if to second guess himself. But then he swallows and brings his hand up to Harry’s cheek. Slowly, and oh-so-gently, Louis wipes away the drying tears soaking into Harry’s skin. Harry breathes out, eying the inside of Louis’ wrist before he looks up apprehensively to meet Louis’ eyes.

“What do you mean, Harry? When you say you killed him,” Louis asks softly, no judgment anywhere in his voice.

“It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Louis studies him for a moment. “Harry, can – “ He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath then trying again. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Harry clenches his eyes shut, torn. He doesn’t want to relive it,  _ again.  _ Once that night was more than enough. He doesn’t want to even say it out loud – he never has before. He’s afraid of what it all might sound like against his lips. He’s afraid of how real everything will finally feel once it’s out there. He’s afraid of what Louis might think of him. Will he be disgusted by Harry, just as Harry is disgusted with himself? Harry doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle that.

Yet, at the same time, he wants to understand. He wants to understand that night – why them, why Zayn? How was any of it fair? He’s in pain. He’s in so much pain and he just can’t handle it all on his own anymore. He wants Louis to understand why he’s in pain.

So he tells him.

He tells him everything that happened the night of May 2nd, 1998. Every awful detail is painstakingly clear, fresh in his brain because of the nightmare he had not many moments ago. He tells him about about leaving the dungeons and running into an unconscious Perrie. About facing Death Eaters and the wall of fire – about Zayn coming to his rescue as he always had their entire lives. He tells him about being in the middle of the action, feeling on top of the world until he watched a Death Eater cast the killing curse on Zayn, while he did nothing to help, nothing to stop it, lying uselessly in a pile of webs in the dirt.

As he tells his story, the tears fall again, though not violently this time. They fall one at a time, slowly and silently as Harry lets it all out. Louis stays quiet the whole time, listening closely, every so often reaching to wipe Harry’s cheek dry.

“He…he had so many things he was going to do, Lou.” He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sleep shirt. “He wanted to be an artist – he, he was so much better than me, you should have seen. And – and he’s was  _ finally  _ going to tell Liam that he’d fancied him since we were eleven, and he – he – “

Harry pauses to take a very deep, much needed breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth. He feels Louis gently squeeze the side of his hip, not sure when it had gotten there, but it helps calm him.

“He was my best friend and I don’t know who I am anymore without him.”

Harry feels exhausted after he’s done, but at the same time he feels a little lighter than before. He’s shoved another heavy layer of weight off his shoulders.

Louis stares dead into his eyes, gaze intense and serious. He squeezes Harry’s side a little harder.

“I’ll tell you who you are, Harry. You are kind, and you’re smart. You’re an artist, even though you think you suck. You’re hilarious, even though your jokes  _ do  _ suck. You’re soft, gentle. And not in a weak way,  _ never  _ in a weak way, because you’re strong. You blow me away with how strong you are, especially right now. You’re a son, you’re a brother. You’re a friend. You’re a  _ best  _ friend. You’re – you’re beautiful.”

Harry’s breath catches, eyes flooding. He wants to fight everything Louis’ said, it doesn’t feel true, but that word stops him.

_ Beautiful.  _ No one’s ever called him beautiful before.

Louis continues on though, quickly adding, “And you’re brave. I can’t imagine going through all of that. You’re brave and you  _ save  _ people.”

Harry scoffs wetly, unable to listen any further. “I don’t save people, Louis.”

“You saved Perrie,” Louis pushes. “She’s still here. She wakes up every morning because of you.”

“All I did was move her. I didn’t even come back to help her like I promised I would. It can’t be because of me that she’s –“

“You don’t know that,” Louis interrupts. “You don’t know that. You still did something to help her. You brought her to shelter, Harry. You  _ saved  _ her.”

Harry looks away. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He just can’t look at Louis and accept that he saves people, that he’s a good person. How can he be a good person when he let his best friend down? What did it matter if he might’ve kept Perrie safe if he couldn’t keep  _ Zayn _ safe?

The silence weighed down on the both of them, and when Louis speaks again, his voice is the softest Harry’s ever heard it.

“You saved me.”

Harry’s eyes immediately return to Louis’. The words hang in the air between them. His brain can’t handle what they might mean.

“What?” he asks.

But Louis keeps going, ignoring his question. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Louis sounds so certain, so earnest, that maybe if someone else heard him, they might be convinced. Harry still isn’t.

He shakes his head. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“Harry, stop. Don’t say that…”

“It’s the truth, Louis. I just watched it all happen! I – I could have cut myself free sooner, I could have stopped it if I wasn’t such a fucking idiot!”

Harry covers his face in his hands, too ashamed to have Louis even look at him anymore.

“ _ Harry.” _

Louis’ voice is stern, sharp, and it makes him flinch, though Louis doesn’t yell at him like Harry expects him to. He grabs hold of Harry’s wrists, bringing his hands away from his face and doesn’t let go. He holds both of Harry’s hands in his between their chests.

“This guilt that’s eating away at you and it isn’t going to change anything. It isn’t going to bring Zayn back.”

Harry flinches at the wording.

“I don’t say that to upset you,” Louis continues, “but it’s the truth. You can’t spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for something terrible that happened out of your control. You need someone to blame? Blame the Death Eater that  _ actually  _ took him away from you. Blame fucking Voldemort! If it wasn’t for  _ him,  _ none of this would have happened. No one would have had to die. My body wouldn’t be broken, and neither would your heart.”

Louis stops himself, biting down hard on his lip. A tear of his own trickles down his delicate cheekbone and off the slope of his nose, nearly red in the face, trying so hard to make Harry see.

“It kills me to hear you talk about yourself like that, Haz. You’re so wonderful, you don’t even know.”

Harry’s breathless. Completely fucking speechless.

_ Louis Tomlinson… _

He can’t say the things he’s thinking, so he says something else instead.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Louis laughs wetly, sniffling, and it makes Harry’s stomach flip at how cute he is.

“I’m okay, Hazza. That’s not your fault either.”

They both stay silent for awhile, using the time to calm down a little. Harry thinks the conversation might be over now, trickles of anxiety settling in. He’s just wondering whether he should go back to his own bed when Louis breaks the silence.

Not with words, though, not yet. Slowly, as if Louis doesn’t want to spook him, he leans forward, pressing the gentlest of kisses against Harry’s forehead. The moment Louis’ lips touch his skin, the strain of his pinched, anxious expression instantly relaxes, as if Louis’ lips hold a special brand of magic all their own.

Louis pulls back, but doesn’t go far. He rests his forehead against Harry’s and closes his eyes.

“I don’t want you holding any of that in anymore, okay? When it gets too much, come to me. I’ll help you. I’ll always help you.”

The corners of Harry’s lips quirk up the tiniest bit, his whole body flushing with a new rush of warmth.

“Harry?” Louis prompts, when Harry doesn’t answer.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice hoarse from all the crying, at the same time trying not to get too choked up again as a result of Louis Tomlinson being the best person Harry’s ever met. “I will.”

Louis nods, but refuses to move.

They fall asleep like that, face to face, exhausted from so many emotions.

On the rare nights that Harry doesn’t have a nightmare, those nights that don’t end in screaming, he usually sees nothing.

It’s dark, black, empty. Silent  _ nothing. _

This night, however, as he drifts off to the sound of Louis’ soft, shallow breathing, his skin sinking into Louis’ sheets, he sees colour. He sees him and Louis, just the two of them dancing around, surrounded by nothing but every colour under the sun. They’re laughing, smiling – about what, Harry doesn’t know. It really doesn’t matter. Then there’s Zayn. They celebrate his birthday.

It’s a good dream.

*** 

Harry comes to Louis’ bed when he has nightmares. He comes to Louis’ bed when he starts to feel anxious. When starts to feel guilty again. He comes to Louis’ bed to tell him something, to give him back rubs, to do homework together. Harry comes to Louis’ bed until he eventually runs out of excuses.

They start spending every night together, wrapped up under Louis’ velvet green covers. Harry’s bed remains made up, cold and untouched; a place where he can send all his bad thoughts away, drawing the curtains closed and trapping them there.

***

Harry notices Louis doesn’t drink his Calming Draught as much as he used to, but doesn’t comment on it directly. He only asks if he’s okay when he notices Louis tend to his joints more often than usual, or when he sees his hands shake more vigorously.

Perhaps ticks like those should have set of an alarm for Harry, after a week with no sign of the draught, he is woken up in the middle of the night to a very distressed Louis.

Harry sits up, immediately alarmed. He reaches for his wand and lights their dark cocooned bed. Louis’ shaking all over, drenched in sweat. His breaths are rapid, aggressive, his chest quickly vibrating up and down.

“Lou? What’s wrong?”

Louis lets out a whimper, brows pinched, cluing Harry in that Louis must be in a lot of pain.

He feels helpless; he’s never seen Louis like this before. He’s had enough panic attacks in his life to recognize one, but that’s just it. He’s always the one having them – he’s never had to help someone else through one before.

Louis usually holds him when Harry gets like this. At the same time, Louis’ already in so much pain, he’ll never forgive himself if he accidentally does the wrong thing and makes it worse.

He tries something else. Harry leans forward and gently combs through Louis’ fringe, pushing the hair back where it’s stuck to his sweaty skin.

“Shh, shh…” Harry croons, “Breathe, Louis. Breathe. Can you breathe for me?”

He can see Louis gasping for more air, but failing, causing his panic to worsen. Harry puts a careful hand on top of Louis’ chest. His heart is beating so fast under his palm, Harry wonders if it might be trying to escape Louis’ body. It scares Harry shitless.

“Come on, Lou. Breathe with me, okay? In…out. In…out. That’s right.”

Harry guides him in taking deep breaths, and soon enough Louis starts to catch on. Harry gets a bit lightheaded after forcing so many deep breaths but he keeps going, more concerned about Louis than himself.

Louis’ breathing starts to even out into something more normal, his heart seeming to calm down as well. But the shaking doesn’t subside, and neither does the pained expression on Louis’ face.

Harry takes the opportunity to get out of bed once he feels like Louis might be just calm enough without him.

“Let me get you some water.”

He doesn’t have to go far. Just on the other side of the velvet curtain, there is a bedside table situated against the wall, halfway between his and Louis’ beds. Sitting on top is an empty goblet. Harry snatches it, sitting back down on his side of the bed, shutting the the curtain closed after him.

He picks up his wand and points it into the cup. “ _ Aguamenti.”  _ He waits until the goblet is fully filled before pulling back his wand.

He turns to Louis. “It’s okay, I’ll help.”

Careful not to do anything to hurt him, Harry snakes the palm of his hand not clutching the goblet around the back of Louis’ neck. As gently as possible, Harry spreads his fingers to support the back of Louis’ head, tilting him upward a few degrees. He brings the goblet to Louis’ dry, cracked lips.

“Drink, Lou.”

And he does. With Harry supporting his head so he doesn’t choke, Louis gulps down the water desperately, as fast as Harry will allow him. Harry’s heart clenches. Seeing Louis – bright, beautiful Louis – in this much pain and stress is almost too much for him to handle. He hates it.

When the water’s gone, Harry sets the cup aside and turns his focus back solely onto Louis.

“Louis, talk to me please. You’re scaring me.”

Louis closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. Harry watches patiently, knowing Louis is trying. After another few moments, Louis opens his eyes again. They find Harry’s immediately.

“Thank you,” he breathes out. It sounds a little bit like relief.

Harry goes back to combing Louis’ hair with his fingers.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.” He stops for a moment. “Where’s your draught? Let me go get it.”

Harry starts to get up from the bed again, but Louis grabs his wrist weakly, stopping him.

“No, Haz. Don’t.”

Harry turns back around and studies Louis’ face, confused. Louis’ eyes are wild, pleading. It’s almost as if he’s more afraid of the tiny vial than the panic attack he was just having.

And then it dawns on Harry.

“Is this happening because you stopped taking your draught, Louis?”

Louis biting sheepishly on his bottom lip is enough of an answer for Harry.

Then, like an epiphany of some sort, Harry as a flash of a memory from one of his potions classes. Something Snape said once – or maybe it had been Slughorn – about healing potions and others like them. They can be highly addictive. Oftentimes, a witch or wizard might become dependent on them, their bodies becoming too used to their healing properties that when they stop, bad things can happen.

All the pieces come together.

“Louis!” His voice comes out harsher than he means it to, not missing the way Louis flinches. He tries again, softer this time. “You can’t just quit cold turkey like that. Your body is having withdrawals.”

Louis, still literally the sassiest person alive, does his best to roll his eyes. “I’m not some sort of drug addict, Harry.”

“Close enough,” Harry argues. “Your body and your brain have become dependent on it, and now that you’ve stopped taking it, you’re practically shutting down. I mean, look at you, you can’t stop shaking! Didn’t your mum warn you about this when she made all of it for you?”

“Harry, stop!” Louis cries out, squeezing his eyes shut again to stop his newly formed tears from shedding. “And I didn’t tell her how much of it I was taking…”

Harry mentally kicks himself, stressfully combing his hand through his curls.

_ Worthless. You can’t even help someone right. _

“I’m sorry,” Harry exhales through his nose. “I didn’t mean to make you more upset. I’m just worried, I…” He gazes down at Louis and swallows the words he wants to say. “Just tell me. Why did you stop all of a sudden?”

Louis matches Harry’s gaze, wet and intense. He doesn’t blink as his lower lip trembles. Harry can sense the shame in him, how upset Louis is with himself. Harry wants to hold him so tight and tell he’s forbidden to cry for the rest of his life. It’s not Louis’ fault for wanting a release for his pain, Harry knows that.

“I wanted to be strong on my own without it. I wanted to be strong like you.”

The dam behind Louis’ eyes finally breaks as he starts to sob.

“Oh, Lou…”

Harry can’t stop himself anymore. He lies back down on the mattress and scoops Louis up as tenderly as possible into his arms. They’ve never done it like this before, this type of role reversal, but Harry takes it dead seriously.

“Is this okay?” he asks him, “Am I hurting you?”

Louis nods rapidly against his chest.

“Yes, this is okay? Or yes, I’m hurting you?”

Louis barks out a wet laugh at Harry’s need for clarification, and if he wasn’t so focused on making sure Louis isn’t uncomfortable, he would have rejoiced at seeing a little bit of his Louis back.

“Yes, it’s okay. More than okay, Haz,” Louis croaks.

Harry nods, glad. “In the morning, we’re gonna firecall your mum, okay? We’ll ask her what to do to help you.”

Harry hold him all night, trying and failing not to revel in the fact that he gets to take care of Louis for once.

He feels like he might’ve finally gotten something right.

***

Harry doesn’t know when he first started to to associate Louis with the words  _ “safe”  _ and  _ “home”  _ but as soon as he finally recognizes it, he knows he’s as good as fucked.

Because if he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding in every time he sees Louis, it must mean something.

Harry can’t get himself to say it out loud. Saying it out loud might ruin it, and he  _ can’t  _ ruin it, because at this point, Louis is the only thing holding him together and he refuses to lose him.

Those suspicions, those three, pesky little words – he keeps them to himself.

***

In Divination, Harry sits next to one of the of the Slytherin prefects, Cara, who has been obsessed with Harry’s curls since they were first years.

He lets her play with his curls for as long as she wants in exchange for the password for the prefect bathroom every time it changes.

He tells Louis of his new transaction the next time he sees him at supper.

“So you can take warm baths,” Harry explains. “I read in the library that it’ll help relax your muscles.”

When Louis smiles – his wide, toothy smile, where it reaches his eyes and the colour blinds Harry – it’s all he can see.

***

Harry’s birthday happens to fall on a Hogsmeade Day.

Him, Louis, Liam, and Niall all bundle up in their warmest jumpers and wrap themselves in their thick house scarves and spend the day out on the town celebrating. Liam buys him packs of his favourite sweets, Cauldron Cakes and Treacle Fudge, while Niall supplies the first round of Butterbeers. They spend a few hours inside the Three Broomsticks, laughing by the fire and playing games. Niall beats Harry in two games of Wizard Chess before Louis suggests they take the day’s festivities outside.

“I want to have a proper snowball fight before everything starts to melt.”

Niall and Liam head out front first, Harry stopping Louis with a hand on his shoulder.

“Think that’s a good idea, Lou? I don’t you to over-exert yourself,” Harry asks him, apprehensive. Louis hasn’t had a drop of his Calming Draught since his panic attack a few weeks ago, and while the withdrawal symptoms have mostly subsided, the boy is still a bit sensitive. Harry has been keeping a close eye on him, never wanting to be too far from Louis at any given time.

“Relax, H,” Louis giggles. He reaches over to the coat rack standing by the front entrance and grabs Harry’s knit hat for him. Louis smiles to himself as he stretches the material over Harry’s head, re-adjusting the curls that stick out the bottom. “I promise I’ll be careful. If I start to get uncomfortable, I’ll say something.”

“You promise?” Harry presses.

“ _ Yes.”  _ Louis opens the door and a rush of brisk, cold February air hits them square in the face. Louis, knowing Harry’s hesitancy, takes initiative and pulls on Harry’s hand, guiding the two of them out of the pub. Not too far in the distance, they can see Liam and Niall already pelting each other with spheres of stark white snow. “It’s your birthday, Harry. You deserve a day of  _ fun.  _ Quit worrying ‘bout little old me.”

Harry wants to protest, informing him that doesn’t think he’ll ever stop trying to help him, but he says nothing. Instead, he grins sheepishly and lets himself be led by firecracker Slytherin, Louis Tomlinson out into an open patch of white powder for a snowball fight.

It’s a good day. No, it’s a  _ great  _ day.

Harry thinks it might be one of the best days he’s had in too long of a time. He smiles without feeling guilty, and when he thinks about his first birthday without Zayn, it hurts, of course it does, but then he looks at Louis and everything is alright.

Several hours later, they are walking back to the castle, frozen and hungry for supper when Harry notices that it’s just him and Louis. He looks around them, but his two other friends aren’t anywhere to be seen. Harry frowns slightly – he hadn’t seen them leave.

They’re just crossing the bridge back onto school ground when Louis stops them.

“Wait here just a second, Hazza. I’ve got something for you.”

He reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out a small square parcel, wrapped quite sloppily in crinkled brown paper. It’s tied up in a rather valiant attempt at a bow made out of twine, though one loop is substantially larger than the other.

It’s so Louis and suddenly, despite still being outside in the chill, Harry doesn’t feel cold anymore.

“I had my mum send the owl over with it. I wanted to wait to give it to you when it was just the two of us.” Louis holds out the parcel for Harry to take. “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Harry bites down hard on his bottom lip as he takes the gift from Louis. He hasn’t even opened the damn thing his stomach is already doing somersaults at the notion that Louis thought to get him anything at all.

“Louis,” Harry says, fully aware of his blush-adorned cheeks. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t even get you anything for your birthday…”

“Who cares, you can make it up to me later. Just open it,” Louis replies, impatiently. “Please,” he tacks on at the end, with that smile that literally makes Harry feel like a pile of mush.

“Okay, okay,” Harry giggles.

He unties the twine “bow” and rips away the brown paper, revealing a small, dark blue little velvet box. The kind that unmistakably, to both wizards and muggles alike, are made for jewelry.

Harry lifts his head from the box in his hands to see Louis, bouncing nervously on the balls of his heels, hands clasped behind his back.

“Open it,” Louis says softly.

When he does, Harry’s breath catches.

Sitting inside the little box is a necklace. A small, shiny symbol pendant hangs from a delicate silver chain.

“Lou…”

“It’s a paper airplane,” Louis rushes out, as if eager to explain himself. “I – I asked my friend Oli, he’s a muggle mate of mine from back home in Doncaster. He told me that people fold up pieces of parchment like origami and they can float in the air, without any magic. And it just sounded crazy to me, you know? That even thought it’s just made out of a fragile piece of paper, it keeps on gliding.” Louis takes a shy step closer to Harry, eyes shining so bright and locked with Harry’s. The more he explains, the brighter his eyes get, so effortlessly despite any realm of possibility. “Oli also told me that muggles have this saying,  _ go with the flow,  _ and I guess it reminded me of what Phineas is always saying to us. That the easiest way to heal ourselves is by taking each day one at a time.  _ Go with the flow  _ in a sort of way…”

Louis pauses, and Harry is grateful for the opportunity to breath, having unconsciously held it in during his speech. He also feel’s a sudden wetness of his cheeks, too focused on Louis to realize he’s started to cry.

“Sorry if that’s kind of stupid,” Louis continues,“but I noticed the ring you always wear ‘round your neck and I thought they’d look nice together.”

Louis shrugs shyly, as if completely embarrassed. As if his gift might have rubbed Harry the wrong way. As if Louis didn’t know, that in that very moment, Harry fell so fucking in love that he can’t even think to say a proper thank you.

Harry surges forward, closing the gap between the two of them. There’s too much space between them – there’s always too much space. He wraps his arms all the way around the boy, gentle enough not to hurt his back, but with enough force to hopefully convey to Louis how happy he is.

Louis laughs loudly, taking a brief step back to regain his balance before hugging Harry back just as tightly. He tucks his face into Harry’s neck, nosing the curls poking out from under his cap.

“Does this mean you like it?”

Harry nods vigorously, highly deeply into Louis’ hair.

“I’m so glad I found you.”

***    


Time whizzes by in a blur of  _ Louis, Louis, Louis. _

As winter thaws into spring, Harry thaws, too, with Louis by his side. 

The snow dusting the rolling Scottish hills surrounding the grounds slowly melts away in time for the first few blooms of the new year, and Harry, eyes wide taking in all the green, is eager to paint it.

By the beginning of April, it’s finally warm enough to venture out from the cave they’ve made for themselves in the Astronomy Tower and return to Harry’s old spot along the banks of the lake.

It’s early on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. The sun peeks out from the flurry of fluffy white clouds above, and a soft breeze tousles Harry’s curls as he’s finally nearing the end of his project.

He’s started it, then restarted it again three separate times, determined to get it absolutely perfect. He’s no Zayn or Da Vinci, Harry’s the first to admit that, but there are so many details he must get right in order to properly emulate the beauty of Louis Tomlinson. From his high cheekbones and eyelashes that go on for days, to finding  _ just  _ the right shade of blue for his eyes, all Harry wants is for this to be perfect.

“Your face is going to freeze like that if you keep scowling that hard.”

Harry glances up from his canvas and over his easel at Louis, who is lounging on his back on a blanket spread out on the grass. He’s got the pillows they brought outside with them underneath him to support his spine while he lazily chews an apple, the sleeves of his thin, green knit jumper pushed up to his elbows.

Harry rolls his eyes, biting down on his grin. It’s quite annoying, actually, how fucking cute Louis is, surrounded by freshly bloomed wildflowers. His hair looks soft, his milky skin even softer. Harry thinks Spring Louis might be his favourite so far. Unwilling to lose his concentration, he returns to his project, spilling more brown paint onto his palette.

“When are you going to let me see this one, anyway?” Louis asks, feigning annoyance. “You always let me have a peek.” His eyelashes flutter as he bats his eyes, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

_ Fuck.  _ Harry is a weak, weak man.

“Be patient. It’s almost done, I think. Just a few more touches.”

Harry takes a step back away from the painting to take it all in, scanning it carefully to see if anything is missing. He adds a few more strokes to his fringe, before deciding that, he might actually be done. And…it might actually be good.

Harry starts cleaning his brushes, which to Louis usually means Harry’s done. He sits up on the blanket, grinning excitedly.

“Finished?”

“I think so…”

“Well, c’mon, Haz. Been making me wait to see this one for months. Let’s have a look.” Louis does a twirling motion with his finger, gesturing to Harry to turn around the easel.

Harry shuffles nervously on his feet, staring down at his paint-stained fingers. He attempts to scrape out the bits of acrylic from underneath his nails in an effort to stall, suddenly very aware of how exposed he feels. The whole time while he was painting, he had it in the back of his mind that he would eventually show Louis, but that was back when their friendship was just that – a  _ friendship. _

Ever since Louis gave Harry his paper plane necklace, and Harry realized that his feelings for Louis weren’t actually all that platonic and probably not going to go away, he’s been hyper-aware of everything that happens between them – every touch, every cuddle, every look. Harry feels on fire most nights sleeping next to him in Louis’ bed, itching for so much more. Showing Louis this painting now…

It suddenly means something so much more. And Harry is terrified at what Louis might say about it.

“Harry?” Louis asks gently, “What’s wrong? It can’t be that bad.”

Harry straightens up and takes a deep breath, heart beating wildly out of his chest. He doesn’t look over at Louis, instead keeping his eyes trained on his painting, hands gripping the edges, mindful of the wet spots that haven’t quite dried yet.

“Just please, promise me you won’t laugh? Or at least warn me if you’re gonna say you hate it.”

Louis scoffs. “Come off it. I’m not going to hate it, you’re being silly.”

_ You say that now, but… _

_ Fuck it. _

Harry doesn’t give himself another chance to chicken out, quickly spinning around the easel to face Louis. He plants the wooden legs back into the grass and stands beside it, balling his fists timidly in the sleeves of his navy blue jumper.

It’s a portrait of Louis. The thing is, Harry’s never painted somebody else before, only trying to recall from memory all the techniques Zayn used to try and explain to him. Additionally, despite having a broken back, Louis is hardly ever just sitting in one place for anything longer than thirty minutes. And if he is, it’s his facial expressions that are always changing. That being said, Harry did his best to observe Louis, every time they hung out together up in the Astronomy Tower, from every position and from every angle.

He also might have just enjoyed watching Louis in general but, whatever.

What Harry ended up with, is a portrait of Louis from the waist up. He’s leaning back on one of his arms, staring out into some unknown distance, his face slightly profiled to the left. The sleeves of his white button up are rolled sloppily to his elbows, the top button undone. His silver and green Slytherin tie wrinkles loosely at his torso, just how he always has it whenever they spend their time together – Louis doesn’t like having things so tightly around his neck. His caramel fringe is tousled, artistically messy in every which way. Harry tried his best replicate the precise way Louis styles his hair. He thought about maybe trying out the quiff Louis always used to sport in their earlier years, but kept the fringe in the end. It’s his favourite, after all.

Louis isn’t smiling in the portrait, but he isn’t scowling either. Rather, his face is gentle, calm. What Harry really wanted to create was a Louis at peace – a Louis without any pain. Though, Harry couldn’t help himself to add the smallest of quirk to the side of Louis’ pale pink lips, an ode to the boy’s cheekiness.

It’s not a very colourful piece, unlike all of Harry’s landscape or flower paintings. The background is a plain slate grey, and the only spot of colour on the entire canvas a part from the emerald stripes of his tie, are his eyes – dead center and electric blue. It’s the main focal point of the entire painting and Harry’s absolute favourite.

Harry dares to look at Louis, desperate to gauge his reaction.

Louis sits frozen on the blanket, eyes dangerously wide and glued to the portrait of himself. Ten seconds go by, then fifteen, then twenty and Louis hasn’t moved an inch or even made a sound.

Harry’s face starts to burn, anxiety immediately flushing through him.

It’s too much. He’s revealed too much. Harry starts backpedaling.

“I – I know it’s probably really weird, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I…” Harry tugs harshly at his hair and swears to himself. “ _ Fuck.” _

How could he be so stupid? In what world would Louis Tomlinson  _ not  _ be creeped out by his weirdo friend secretly painting pictures of him?

Harry really wants to hit himself in the head. He wasn’t supposed to  _ ruin  _ this! He wasn’t supposed to scare Louis away when he is quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to Harry. And now he’s fucked it all up, surely bound to send Louis running in the opposite direction soon enough.

He’s just about to open his mouth to apologize again, potentially beg Louis not to leave it he has to, when Louis slowly rises to his feet.

No longer is he looking at the painting, but instead, is staring directly into Harry. He’s wearing an unusual expression that Harry can’t quite place, though it eerily takes him all the way back to first term, when he first noticed Louis’ intense eyes on him during their first counseling session.

Louis’ blinking, and his hands are twitching and his mouth is slightly open, having dropped his apple into the grass, but he isn’t saying anything. He just keeps studying Harry’s face like he’s a riddle, and Harry feels like he could die if Louis doesn’t speak up  _ right now.  _ If he would only warn Harry if he’s about to yell at him, or shove him in the lake…

“Lou?” Harry breaks the silence, only just a whisper of his name, carried away with the breeze.

Harry doesn’t have time to say anything else, because Louis is suddenly alive again, scrambling to his feet, crossing the distance between them and lunging for him. He braces himself, however, the next he knows, he’s got two palms cupping both his cheeks and soft lips crashing against his own.

Harry squeaks in surprise before he realizes what is happening. Though, it doesn’t take him more than half a second to melt into the kiss, sighing in exhilarated relief.

Louis moans lowly against Harry’s lips, deepening the kiss, as his hands migrate from his face deep into his curls, his fingers rooting themselves there. Harry’s own hands glide up the front of Louis’ chest, gripping tightly onto the front of his jumper, pulling them even closer together.

Never in his life has Harry been kissed like this – he suddenly feels almost starved of it. Anna Clearwater had been the first, just a small innocent peck of the lips on the playground back in Holmes Chapel at seven years old. Then again in third year with Olivia Templeton, followed by Jack Korner in fifth year. None of those kisses made Harry feel like  _ this  _ – in flames from head to toe,  _ alive _ , as if too much could never ever be enough.

For the first time in nearly a year, Harry is  _ free. _

They kiss for what feels like hours, though definitely only minutes, eventually coming up for air. Harry pants rapidly, his eyes still closed, mind reeling. Louis lowers slinks his hands down from Harry’s hair, panting just as harshly, locking his fingers around his neck at the base his hairline. Louis pulls Harry forward again, catching his lips in the softest of kisses, much slower than the first, their lips just barely touch, before Louis rests their foreheads together.

“Fuck, Harry. You have  _ no  _ idea how long I’ve wanted to do that…” Louis exhales.

Harry can’t help the giggles that escape him, feeling positively drunk on Louis, his body full of bubbles.

“Does this mean you like the painting?” 

Louis pulls back a little to look at him, smile beaming. “Harry, you’re amazing.” Louis dives back in, kissing him so hard, Harry, like the klutz he is, loses his balance, sending the both of them crashing down onto the grass. Harry’s body took the brunt of the fall, but he immediately turns to Louis, hands searching him for any damage.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Louis shakes his head and cackles, looking up at Harry with pure fondness.

“Shut up.” Louis pushes Harry by the shoulders back onto the grass, leaning down on top of him while he reconnects their lips.

And well, it  _ does  _ shut him up.

***

Once they start kissing, they don’t stop – hungry, eager to make up for lost time.

Harry’s routine continues, but with hand holding and kisses and midnight cuddles.

Their friends are over the moon for them, though not without indulging in every opportunity to give them loads of shit.

Niall catches them, on more than one occasion, snogging in various places around the castle. At lunch, Louis greets Harry with longer-than-necessary kisses once he reaches their usual spot at the Hufflepuff table after his morning lessons, which will prompt Niall to throw something at the pair in an attempt to break them a part – usually a napkin, though sometimes a wayward piece of food somehow uneaten on Niall’s plate.

“Get a room! Bloody disgusting…” Niall will gripe, though his eyes will show he doesn’t mean it, and that he really thinks the two of them together is the best thing to happen to the world since fried chicken.

Liam goes beet-red each time his leg accidentally gets in the way of a rousing game of footsie under their clustered desks during counseling.

“Seriously, Louis? Give the poor lad’s ankles a break.”

Louis laughs and Harry blushes, but the interruption doesn’t deter them from one another for very long. It’s like a part of Harry has to be touching Louis at all times or else he’ll float to the ceiling, as if he’s had one too many Fizzing Whizbees.

He’s positively addicting, that Louis Tomlinson.

Once they start kissing, they don’t stop.

***

It’s at counseling a few weeks later, that Liam finally shares.

For the first time all year, it’s only Harry and Liam sitting together during group. Ever since Louis’ withdrawal-induced panic attack, Harry had insisted on getting him some more serious help with his recovery. Every couple of weeks, with the permission of McGonagall and Louis’ mum, Louis Floos from the castle to St. Mungo’s for more frequent physical therapy appointments. So far, it seems to be going really well for him, to Harry’s relief.

So that’s where Louis is that afternoon, leaving Liam and Harry by themselves, which, Harry realizes, hasn’t happened before. Not that Liam and Harry aren’t comfortable hanging out just the two of them – on the contrary, Harry’s grown quite fond of the Gryffindor and their growing friendship this year – however, Louis’ always been there. It reminds Harry of how he’d only ever speak to Liam when Zayn was around, too.

For a moment, it makes Harry feel a little bit guilty, wondering if he’s ever made Liam feel left out. If he should have thought to invite Liam to paint with him, or study, or something just by themselves.

Harry frowns to himself, deep in thought sitting in his usual desk. There isn’t anything he can do about the past – something Louis reminds him of every day – but he decides he’s going to make a more conscious effort to show Liam how much he appreciates their friendship.

His love for Liam is further confirmed when the boy speaks up.

“Harry, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Harry looks up at Liam, pulled swiftly from his thoughts back into the present. He takes in the strong, yet somber expression on Liam’s face. His round brown eyes hold Harry’s gaze, determined and a little tired, and Harry knows whatever Liam’s about to say is important to him.

“Yeah, okay. What is it?” Harry replies kindly, hoping to ease the tenseness of Liam’s tightly curled fists.

Liam runs a nervous hand through his short crew cut, exhaling deeply and Harry gets a sneaking suspicion that Liam waited all this time to say whatever he’s about to until they were alone. He can’t ignore the feeling that he already knows what this might be about. This conversation is months overdue.

“You and Lou have been so good to me whenever we come to these meetings,” Liam starts. “I tried really hard in the beginning to put up this front that I’ve been okay, but then it got so exhausting all the time pretending and I kind of shut down every time we came back here. Even after you and Louis started growing close and learned to open up more, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t say the words out loud, and please don’t take this the wrong way Harry, but I felt like crying every time I’d look at you.”

It’s an old habit, a gut reaction to months of insecurities and self-inflicted verbal abuse, but Harry feels his face fall. He tries to school his features in time before Liam could see, but he isn’t quick enough.

Liam reaches out in a haste, clutching on to Harry’s arm in apology.

“No, no, Haz,” Liam amends, “I only meant that, whenever I saw you, I saw  _ him  _ and I felt like I couldn’t share what I was thinking because, no matter how I was feeling about it, I knew it was  _ a million  _ times worse for you. I didn’t have that right.”

Harry shakes his head in protest. “Liam, that’s not true. He was your friend, too. You’re  _ allowed _ to grieve him.”

Besides Harry, Liam was the person Zayn had always felt closest to. Zayn would talk about him all the time – about how safe and happy he’d feel whenever Liam was in the room. And even though they were only just mates and Zayn never confessed to anything different, Harry could always tell that there must have been something special between the two of them. Harry wishes now he could have gotten to see it more.

Liam looks Harry dead in the eye, open and honest.

“Harry, I loved him.”

Harry gasps quietly, eyes wide and he truly let’s Liam’s words sink in.

_ Oh, no… _

Liam laughs wetly, wiping at the corner of his eye as tears begin to form in them. “I was proper in love with him. Have been for as long as I can remember, really. Reckon I still am – it’s hard to let things go when you keep ‘em all bottled up, y’know?”

Harry nods, the initial shock fading away and the clear understanding settling in.

“Liam…”

“It was his eyes first – just like they were for everyone else, right?” Liam continues, closing his eyes tight as he goes on, finally letting it all out. “Then it was his brain. He was so fucking clever, and you’d never really know it at first because he was so quiet. And he was so fucking talented. I swear to Merlin, Harry, I’ve kept every single drawing and painting he ever made for me, and – and I never  _ told  _ him. He’s gone and I never got to tell him I loved because I was too fucking chicken to think he could ever think of me that way. He could’ve anyone he wanted, why would have ever chosen me –“

“ _Liam,”_ Harry all but shouts, a tight grip around Zayn’s ring next to his paper plane. It came out more forcefully than he meant to, but he just can’t let Liam keep going like that. He has to tell him.

Zayn can’t, but Harry can.

“Liam,” he says softer this time, looking at the boy, whose eyes are now open again, confused. Harry reaches over to him and gives his hand a, hopefully, calming squeeze. “Liam, Zayn loved you, too.”

As soon as he says it, a stray tear finally falls slowly down Liam’s cheek. He doesn’t blink them away. He stays still, a statue holding his breath.

“What?” The word barely makes it out of Liam’s mouth.

“He  _ loved  _ you, Liam. Told me he’d loved you pretty much since the first moment he saw you. And I know it’s n-not fucking fair,” Harry hiccups, his own throat forming a lump, “and I know it hurts like fucking hell, but you deserve to know. You deserve to know, that if Zayn were here, he’d choose you. He’d choose  _ you. _ ”

Liam finally breaks, body shaking all over, and Harry is up in an instant. Other kids in the room, including Phineas, turn their heads toward noise, but Harry doesn’t pay them any mind. They know not to say anything, anyway. Harry moves around Louis’ empty chair and swiftly sits down on Liam’s lap, curling his arms tight around his broad, quivering shoulders. Liam sobs loudly into Harry’s neck while Harry holds him, crying his own set of heartbroken tears. He wishes Louis were here to comfort him, too, but for now, this is more than enough as Zayn’s best friend and only love hold themselves together.

“Thank you, Harry,” Liam whispers into Harry’s skin between sobs. “ _ Thank you. _ ”

All Harry can do is nod, cupping the back of Liam’s head gently.

They’ve got each other now. They’re going to be alright.

***

Toward the end of April, Harry returns to the dungeons after his afternoon lessons to find Louis nowhere in sight, despite the fact that Louis is usually in bed taking a nap at this time of day.

Harry takes out his want from his pocket and swishes it the air, “ _ Expecto Patronum.”  _ A silvery white doe appears, looking expectantly at Harry.

“Lou, where are you? Thought we could go out in the fields by Hagrid’s today.”

Harry sends the doe off with his message to find his boy.

_ His boy.  _ Harry blushes at the sound of it. Neither of them have spoken out loud what they are, too distracted most of the time by snogging each other’s face off to actually be able to use their mouths to talk.

Still.  _ His boy… _

Harry really,  _ really  _ wants him to be.

Not a minute later, a glowing white stag comes prancing into the boy’s dormitory. The stag opens his mouth to speak, but Louis’ voice comes out instead.

“Hi Hazza, I had Stan help me up to the prefect’s bathrooms again. Come meet me here?”

Harry freezes, staring wildly at the patronus. Louis’ used the prefect bathrooms for his baths several times since Harry started giving him the passwords, always saying how good the water feels.

Louis’ never asked Harry to come along before. Sure, he’s helped him up the stairs, but that’s about it. He’ll usually hug Louis goodbye and leave him to do something else, assuming Louis’d prefer to bathe in private like most human beings.

A sudden flush of heat rushes all over him, blood pumping in two different directions from his heart, up to his face and down to his groin. Harry’s imagination gets creative as he has to close his eyes and concentrate on evening his breath.

No, no. Louis probably just wants to tell him something. Or just wants Harry to sit and talk with him. While he’s in the bath. Naked…

Harry shakes the thoughts violently out of his brain. Not that he doesn’t want that –  _ Merlin  _ does he want that. But he doesn’t want it if Louis doesn’t and neither one of them have really hinted at taking things further than just kissing. They both have enough going on as it is, April almost all the way through, and it doesn’t really feel like the time to bring up the idea of intimacy. It’s not even like they’re  _ dating _ , right?

Or, are they…?

Harry’s brain starts to hurt and he’s taking too long. No matter what Louis wants him for, he wants him and Harry would be a liar if he says he doesn’t want Louis right now either.

Harry puts his school books onto his bed and heads back out of the dungeons toward the prefect bathrooms. He all but races there, sweating and slightly out of breath by the time he makes it up the series of staircases. Louis isn’t outside waiting for him next to the Boris the Bewildered statue, so Harry assumes he’s already inside.

“Wolfsbane,” Harry says to Boris, who stiffly nods before the bathroom door creaks in.

“Lou?” Harry calls out as he enters, but he needn’t wait for a reply. Louis stands in the middle of the room, still fully clothed and dry. He’s got the brightest smile on his face and he’s bouncing on the heels of his feet, as if he’s a little boy who’s been waiting for his parent’s to come home and so he can ask for dessert for dinner.

Harry raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Lou, what’s going on.”

As if it’s even possible, Louis’ grin grows even bigger. It may or may not actually take Harry’s breath away.

“Hazza, guess what? Stan was helping me up here, and you know how I’ve been saying how good I’ve been feeling lately? Well, I really wanted to try, and – Harry, I got halfway up here all by myself!”

Harry could cry. He really, really could. In fact, he thinks he’s going to, because he  _ knows  _ what that means to Louis. It sounds so simple coming out of his mouth, saying that he made it halfway up a couple flights of stairs by himself without any help, but Harry  _ knows.  _ He knows and he’s so fucking proud of him.

Harry moves across the distance between them and scoops Louis into his arms. Louis laughs and he sounds so incredibly happy. It spreads from Louis into Harry through the contact of their bodies. Harry feels so incredibly happy.

“That’s so amazing, Louis.  _ You’re  _ amazing.”

Louis steps back a little and grabs Harry’s face, kissing desperately into his mouth.

In the weeks since their first kiss, they’ve pretty much exchanged every sort of kiss – slow and sweet, giddy with clanging teeth, laughing into each other’s mouths – but this is different. It’s hungry, passionate. It’s desire, want.  _ Need. _

Harry feels himself growing tighter in his trousers as Louis holds him unbearably close and eventually Harry has to come up for air, his lungs burning.

“Lou…” he breathes out, his temple resting against Louis’.

“Join me.”

Harry opens his eyes, finding Louis’ instantly. “What?”

“Join me,” Louis repeats, voice coarse, his chest heaving up and down. “Please.”

Harry gulps nervously. “Are you sure?”

Louis just nods before he’s capturing his lips again. Forget his lungs, Harry’s whole body is on fire.

“Okay,” Harry manages to get out between kisses. “Okay.”

They finally manage to break apart long enough to step back a few steps from one another while, slowly, they take off their clothes. Their eyes never leave each other as they strip material one by one – socks, jumpers, trousers, and finally, pants.

Harry’s never been naked in front of another person before, but he’s not uncomfortable. He feels safe.

And Louis – Harry’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life than Louis Tomlinson.

Louis smirks cheekily, offering out a hand to Harry. He takes it, laughing off a blush as Louis studies every inch of him.

The tub is already full with suds and, thankfully, the water is still warm as Louis guides them into the tub. Harry sighs blissfully as he sinks into the water, feeling warm all over.

Their kisses before had been hurried, lustfully desperate, but now that they’re in the water, they’re softer, much more gentle with each other. Louis slowly pushed his fingers against Harry’s chest, walking him backward toward one of the edges of the tub.

As soon as Harry sits down on the bench that perimeters the edge, Louis straddles him, grinning down at him, looping his arms around his neck.

Harry isn’t quite sure if this is a dream – it’s something far better than he ever imagined happening for himself.

Normal people get to fall in love. Normal people get to hold somebody they love and never let go. Normal people get to get to have sex.

Harry may not be able to remember a time before when he really felt normal – even before Zayn’s death when he saw himself as nothing more as the clumsy friend of the Hogwarts Darling. But right now, Harry doesn’t just  _ get to be  _ normal, he is.

Harry can feel the stiff hardness in his lap between their stomachs, but he chooses instead to focus on Louis’ eyes. The piercing, endlessly deep blue that Harry wants to spend forever in. It’s a big statement, and they’re only seventeen, but Harry means it. He means forever.

“What are you thinking about underneath all those curls?” Louis whispers, smiling fondly at him. Harry purrs as Louis combs back his wet hair with his fingers.

“You,” Harry answers honestly. “Always you.”

The cheese is worth it for the crinkles by his eyes.

Louis dives back in, grinding down slowly. Harry groans against his lips, head falling back in pleasure.

In the heat of the moment, Harry doesn’t realize it, but he’s finally doing it. He’s letting go.

He’s living life.

***

Harry’s anxiety creeps back in as the end of the year draws near.

He has absolutely no clue what he wants to do with his life – never has really, but Harry always thought he’d spend his final year at Hogwarts figuring it out. Instead, he spent most of it in a trauma-induced ball.

Then there’s Louis. He hasn’t been vocal about where he sees himself after school either. Once upon a time, Louis would have been offended at the suggestion that he’d be anything other than a professional Quidditch player. Harry doesn’t know his thoughts about that now, but it’s another concept that makes him anxious.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t know where Louis’ going. There’s one thing he absolutely  _ does _ know, though, and it’s that losing Louis isn’t an option for Harry.

Currently, he’s sitting against a tree trunk, sketching the scene before him: Niall, Liam, and Louis having a water fight in the shallow banks of the lake. He wasn’t in the mood to join, and certainly didn’t want to drag down his friends’ almost-summer mood. Louis – lovely, lovely Louis, seemed to understand, directing the other boys’ attention away from him so he can have some space.

Harry’s afraid. He’s afraid and he  _ hates  _ it because it feels like sliding backward. He’s seen how much better Louis’ been since St. Mungo’s has been giving him better treatment. Even now, Harry watches from afar as Louis runs effortless through the water, bending down to splash the water in Liam’s face without a wince.

It’s a pathetic, horrible thought, but Harry’s afraid Louis’ going to get better before he does and he won’t need him anymore. And then what would he have left?

His head’s been swarming all afternoon with unwanted thoughts, but there’s one that constricts his heart the most:

He doesn’t know how to ask Louis to stay.

It isn’t a shock that Louis eventually confronts him about it.

The four of them are walking back up the hill toward the castle to get ready for supper, when Louis snakes his left arm around his waist, pulling him in against his hip. Their steps slow, falling back from their two soaking friends.

“Alright,” Louis starts. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” Harry replies distantly, still very much in his head.

“What’s got you all upset. You’ve been frowning since we woke up this morning.”

“Nothing. Just tired, I think,” Harry steps out of Louis’ hold, walking a bit faster, too embarrassed to even look him in the eye.

“Wait, hey,  _ hey, _ ” Louis calls after him. He catches Harry’s hand and tug him back gently. “Tell me what’s going on.” He looks Harry up and down, concerned, trying to pinpoint the cause of Harry’s behavior.

“I said I’m tired, Louis,” Harry tries to brush off, growing irritable – more with himself than with Louis.

“Why can’t you tell me? I can help you –“

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” Harry spits back. “Maybe for one second you can stop looking at me like some charity case. Not everyone has access to certain magic to cure them.”

Harry wants to take it back as soon as it’s out there, but it’s too late – Louis’ eyes already widen in clear hurt.

“ _ Charity case?  _ Harry, you’re not a charity case you’re my –“ Louis stops himself, swallowing whatever he was about to say. He shakes his head and starts over, frustration obvious as he exhales through his nose. “Harry, we’ve been through too much shit this year for you to start pushing me away now. I know you don’t mean that, but I can’t help you if you won’t let me. Come find me when you calm down and remember I’m not your enemy in this.”

Louis brushes past Harry quickly, jogging up the hill to catch up with Niall and Liam.

Harry feels like shit. He feels more like shit than he did a few minutes ago when all the bad thoughts and anxiety made him say things he didn’t mean. He’s never fought with Louis before. He hates it.

_ When will I stop feeling like all I’m capable of doing is fucking things up? _

Harry sits down on the grass, bringing his knees close to his chest. He holds his face in his hands and takes deep breath after deep breath, fighting off every horrible thought that comes to him. He keeps breathing, refusing to cry, and refusing to let himself continue to be a slave to his illness. That’s what it is – an illness. One he’ll never be cured from if he pushes away the people who care and are here right now, even if they may or may not stay.

After half an hour, Harry picks himself up again and heads toward the Great Hall so he can apologize.

He’s sees the three of them at their usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, Niall and Liam eating away, carefully watching Louis pick at his beef.

Harry takes another deep breath and walks over. Louis looks up as he hears Harry’s footsteps come closer.  __ He doesn’t look angry like Harry almost expects him to be. Instead, he looks patient, waiting for Harry to talk first, though he can still see the twinge of hurt in his eyes. Harry hates the one that put it there and he never wants to be that person ever again.

“Can we talk, Lou?” Harry asks, timid.

“Yeah, Hazza. Of course,” Louis pats down on the seat bench next to him. It gives Harry a rush of relief, feeling warm inside about the fact that Louis can be still be so undeservingly kind to him even after a fight. One that wasn’t even a little bit his fault.

Niall and Liam beginning to stand, taking their plates of food with them.

“Oh, you guys don’t have to go,” Harry says.

“That’s okay, Haz. We’ll just go sit down with Ed,” Niall replies, shrugging no-big-deal.

“Privacy and all that,” Liam adds. The two of them walk further down the Hufflepuff table and plop down next to Ed.

Harry turns his whole body to Louis. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you explain to me what that was all about?” Louis asks.

Harry runs a hand down his face and groans. “I swear, Lou, it was so stupid.”

“You know that’s not true,” Louis takes Harry’s hand away from his face to play with his fingers. Harry’s shoulders relax at the touch. “Your feelings aren’t stupid.”

“I just – ugh, I just kept thinking about how I have no idea what I’m going to do when we graduate and then everything started avalanching in my brain and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much better you’ve gotten recently, and I know it’s not a competition, but I feel like I’m not getting any better and you’re just going to be back to normal one day and you’re not going to need me anymore and leave and –“

Louis smiles and cups Harry’s face in his hands. “Baby, breathe.”

Harry melts like fudge ice cream on a hot August day at the word.

“First of all,  _ no  _ it’s not a competition. And if I’m being honest, I think it’s going to take a lot longer than a couple of months before we might be close to feeling normal again. What even is normal, anyway? Maybe this is our new normal.” Louis leans in to peck Harry. He smiles, talking against his lips. “I’m a bit fond of it already.”

Harry laughs, deepening the kiss before he pulls back, hunching down to lean his head against Louis’ shoulder. Louis curls his arm around him, pulling him in closer.

“I am sorry about freaking out on you. Next time I’ll talk.”

“It’s okay, H. Listen to me, though. I’m not leaving so you can just get that right out of your head.”

Harry looks up at him, sitting up, but remaining close, Louis’ grip around him sliding down from his shoulders to his waist.

“Really?”

“Really,” Louis confirms. His lips curve into a mischievous smirk, leaning in and attaching themselves to the skin behind Harry’s ears. “You really think I could walk away from these curls?”

Harry giggles, his mouth falling lax as Louis peppers kisses further and further down his neck.

They only break apart when they’re bombarded by snowballs in the form of dinner rolls; the culprits – Niall, Liam, and Ed at the end of the table, laughing at them with disgusted, yet fond expressions.

***

It’s the night before the one-year anniversary of the battle.

They both think about all the things they’ve been through this year. They think about the lowest of the lows, the times when waking up was the worst, but going to sleep was impossible. They think about the good days, and how,  _ yes,  _ somehow after all this mess there has been good ones. They think about how they feel when they’re together, how it’s better than when they used to accept how their fate looked on paper. They think about the words that remain unsaid, but are felt in every look, touch, and kiss.

They think about all these things, but they don’t voice them. They’ve done enough talking for now.

Drawing the curtains around their bed tight, Louis casts  _ Muffliato _ between kisses against Harry’s collarbones.

They take their time peeling each other’s clothes off, one article after another. Harry tries to insist being on his knees so they won’t chance Louis getting a backache, but Louis refuses, adamant on being able to see Harry the whole time.

It’s slow and clumsy, just as first times are, but it brings tears to Harry’s eyes. Never in his life has he ever felt so safe, so connected, so  _ free,  _ than he does right now, making love to Louis underneath velvet green sheets.

Harry shouts out in pleasure as Louis hits just the right spot, clutching his legs tight around his back.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Harry,” Louis pants into Harry’s mouth, sweaty foreheads rest against one another as Louis continues, both of them growing closer and closer.

Harry only nods, unable to make coherent words. Still, Louis knows.

Harry loves this boy. 

He loves him. He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

***

May 2, 1999.

The whole school gathers into the Great Hall for a day of remembrance for their fallen friends. It’s open to anyone who wishes to make the journey out to Hogwarts, with some families and close members of the wizarding community attending to pay their respects. Harry even spots Harry Potter off in one of the corners, stoic as ever standing with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

The Hall looks lovely. There are hundreds of candles and lights decorating the space, but most importantly, there are floating portraits of each fallen student and adult all around the perimeter of the room. 

It was a casual memorial, no speeches or exchanges of teary memories. Instead, people took their time, choosing to speak directly to the portraits of their loved ones. The paintings aren’t static, but they don’t talk back. They’re there to listen. 

Harry walks up to Zayn’s portrait just as Liam is finishing up. Louis squeezes the hand that’s clasped in his and Harry looks away from the painting and turns to his right, meet his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Want me to come with you?” Louis asks.

Harry thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I think I want to do it alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, baby,” Louis replies, because he gets it. He kisses Harry on the temple then lets go of his hand, moving back toward Niall.

Harry stands back at a certain distance and waits until Liam is finished. He only waits a few minutes and Liam turns around, eyes rimmed red and still wet. Liam walks straight for Harry as Harry steps closer, arms open wide, Harry accepting him readily. They hold onto each other firmly, saying everything they need to in that one embrace.

Eventually, Liam steps back and gives Harry’s shoulder a squeeze and flashes him a sad, but grateful smile before heading over to where Louis and Niall stand patiently.

Finally, Harry’s full attention is back on the portrait, holding tightly onto his necklaces as he steps forward.

It’s big – the portrait. Wide and rectangular, almost directly at eye level, with a heavy-looking gold frame. Actually, now that Harry thinks about it, the Zayn in the picture meets his eyes at the same height as he used to. 

His eyelashes flutter at Harry, a small smirk growing in familiar recognition. His torso sways a bit from side to side as if he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other out of frame. His shoulders raise slowly up and down exhibiting the illusion of breath, though his lungs hold oil pigments rather than oxygen. 

The painting itself is gorgeous, though that also might be because it’s Zayn. He’s dressed in his Ravenclaw robes, hair long and sweeping to the side, with one curling strand falling into his eyes – just how he looked the last time Harry saw him, minus all the dirt and blood, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that. It seems fitting actually, the thought bringing a small smile to Harry’s lips – Zayn, the painter, living on in this moment as a painting.

Harry takes a deep breath.

“Guess I should say something now. A lot’s happened this year,” Harry chuckles nervously. He knows he shouldn’t be nervous, but he isn’t ignorant to the fact that this might be his very last chance to say anything to Zayn like this. He’ll never stop missing him, he knows that. But he also knows that come graduation, he’ll need to learn to leave the mourning behind.

“It didn’t start out too well,” Harry continues, “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t sleep without nightmares, would wake up every single morning screaming my throat raw. I saw pieces of you in everything I saw, everywhere I went and I just let it consume me. I – actually, the only thing in those early days that could keep me calm for more than a few minutes was to paint, if you can believe it. I know,  _ me.  _ I swear though, Zayn, I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I wish I could show you some of the things I made for you.

Harry wipes at his eyes. “A lot of people didn’t come back to school this year. Mum didn’t want me to at first, and based on how bad I was over the summer, I don’t blame her. I’m glad I came, though. It’s been hard – it’s been really fucking hard, but also kind of incredible at the same time, if that makes any sense? I don’t know, you were always better with words than I am.

“I’ve been going to grief counseling here. I didn’t think it would do me any good at first, I felt unfixable. Still feel that way sometimes, but it’s helped me more than I can explain.” Harry sniffs and gulps at the lump in his throat. “Our counselor told us something that really struck me, that we may have magic, but we aren’t impervious to being human. I learned a lot while I was there, and Zayn, I don’t think it’s my fault anymore. I don’t think you dying is my fault. It’s still not fucking fair, and a part of me wonders if I’ll always be angry, but it’s not my fault. I really wanted to tell you that. Louis taught me that.”

Harry turns around to find him, and the second he finds Louis’ eyes, he can breathe again. Louis nods at him encouragingly and blows him a kiss. It makes Harry smile, a new wave of tears coming as he’s overwhelmed with a different kind of emotion.

He turns back to Zayn. “I love him, Z. I love him so much it almost hurts, but kind of in a good way? He makes me feel like I deserve to have something go right in my life. I honestly don’t know where I would be right now if he hadn’t saved me from my own mind. Maybe one of these paintings…

“You’re my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend, and that’s always what you’re going to be to me. I’m prepared to miss you every day for the rest of my life, but that doesn’t mean I need to stop living either. In fact, I know that’s not what you want for me. I’m going to figure it out one day, how to miss you without the pain.”

Harry takes another shaky breath, tears flowing down his cheeks without a fight. He looks deep into the mocha acrylic of Zayn’s eyes, hoping somewhere, somehow, he can hear him.

“And please, do one last thing for me. Rest easy. You can rest easy now because Louis is going to take care of me. We’re going to take care of each other.”

Harry steps back, taking one final look of the portrait, committing it to memory. Just as he’s turning around, he sees Zayn move – just a small, knowing smirk. This portrait version of him might not  _ really  _ be him, but Harry doesn’t care, he’ll take it as his answer that Zayn heard every word.

He rushes into Louis’ arms, who scoops him up and breathes him in. “You okay?” Louis asks, pulling back.

Harry nods, dimpled smile growing. “Yeah, I am. Better than, actually.”

“Fuck yeah!” Niall cheers, gaining a few looks from several people standing near. He moves to stand in between the two of them, throwing an arm over each other their shoulders. “What’ya say we celebrate?”

“Maybe a walk?” Louis suggests, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

He decides to spend every day of the rest of his life looking into those eyes. “A walk sounds perfect.”

The four of them march out the front doors of the Great Hall and out into grounds, enjoying a nice long walk on a beautiful day in May. 

On their way, they pass a group of girls moving in the opposite direction. Harry’s eye catches on the blonde -  _ Perrie _ \- laughing at whatever her friends have just said, eyes bright and full of life. 

The smile on Harry’s face doesn’t fade away. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that you did something right. 

***

The last day of school before summer, Harry and Louis lean against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, trunks all packed and ready to go - Harry’s stuff sitting on a bed that’s been untouched for months.

“Harry?”

“Hm?” Harry has his eyes closed, enjoying the warm, early summer breeze against his skin.

“You know I love you, right?”

Harry’s eyes pop open, turning to look at Louis, who’s gazing up at  _ him  _ and not the view. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way he feels under Louis’ microscope.

“Yeah, I do.” Harry bites his lip in an attempt to contain the smile that’s threatening to break his face in half.

Louis chuckles at Harry, rolling his eyes fondly. “This is the part where you’re supposed to say it back, dummy.”

Harry grips his face and smashes their lips together, getting words out in between kisses. “I’m in love with you. So in love with you. The  _ most  _ in love with you.”

“’M in love with you, too.” Louis returns the kiss.

“Good. We’re in love.”

Louis leans back and laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Harry smirks, “ _ ridiculously  _ in love.”

Louis laughs even harder, eyes crinkling as he holds onto his stomach. “Oh, Haz. What am I gonna do with you…”

“Kiss me again,” Harry suggests, puckering his lips.

“If you insist.”

They kiss for another few minutes, exchanging gross, murmured sweet nothings to each other before Louis breaks them apart, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry grabs hold of Louis’ hips in response.

“Seriously, though, H. I don’t care what we do or where we go after this. The important part is that we go there together. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Perfect.”

Harry leans in to kiss him again, but pulls back at the last second with a sudden thought, eliciting a weak squeak in protest from Louis.

“Wait, I have a question for you.”

Louis eyes him curiously. “Alright, go ahead.”

“Before we got grouped together during counseling, before you woke me up from that nightmare the first time in the common room, you kept staring at me. Literally, I barely even knew you and you’d just be staring at me, like, what even  _ was  _ that?”

Harry laughs as Louis groans in embarrassment. “Honestly? I don’t even really know. We’d gone all these years and we hardly ever spoke, despite living in the same room and being in the same House. But then, I walked into that first session and I just saw you across the room, and it was like – it was like seeing you with a fresh pair of eyes? That sounds hoaky, I know, but that’s the best way I can describe it. I felt this  _ pull  _ toward you. I don’t know, does that make any sense?”

Harry nods aggressively, falling more and more in love with his boy with ever sentence he says. “Yes, yes it does. I noticed you that day, too. It was like a switch turned on in me after that.”

“Meant to be.”

“Yeah. At the end of the day, I was always meant to come home to you.”

***

They still aren’t perfect – bits of them, still a little broken.

It takes them a few more years for the stray ache or nightmare to go away for good. But still, they battle through it all.

They found each other in the dark, and together, they are going to live, at last.

THE END 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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